They Stuck Me With You
by Cold-Zephyr
Summary: As they'd never really gotten along, neither Stacy Keibler nor Randy Orton was enthralled to find out that they'd been forced into a romantic storyline with each other by the WWE higherups. But what happens when genuine attraction rears its ugly head?
1. Anyone But Him

**They Stuck Me With You**

By Cold-Zephyr

Genre: Romance/Humor

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Aren't you getting tired of me saying over and over again that I own nothing?

Description: As they have never really gotten along, neither Stacy Keibler nor Randy Orton is enthralled to find out that they've been forced into a romantic storyline with each other by the WWE higher-ups. But what happens if genuine attraction rears its ugly head? Randy/Stacy

Chapter 1: Anyone But Him (Stacy's POV)

* * *

I wonder what this could be about. My boss, Eric Bischoff, had just called for me to come to his office, and for what reason, I am about to find out right now.

"Ah, Stacy, have a seat," he said, gesturing to one of the chairs. "There's a new storyline for you, and we're here, of course, to discuss it."

Ugh, this doesn't sound good. A "new storyline" for me, Stacy Keibler, means one of three things: HLA (yuck), a gimmick match for the male viewers (you know, Bra and Panties, Gravy Bowl, and other kinds of tasteless and lewd crap for horny guys), or an onscreen relationship with some mid-carder whom they couldn't come up with any better ideas for. Bad storylines are a part of this job, but hey, I've got no right to bite the hand that feeds me.

"It's a romantic storyline," Bischoff continued.

The least of three evils, thank god. "The guy better be cute, Eric."

"Oh, his millions of female fans will gladly tell you that," he chuckled. "Randy Orton's pretty popular for his GQ-cover boy looks."

I could feel the mocha frappucino rising up my throat. They're forcing me into an angle with that arrogant jerk? "God, no, Bisch, anyone but Randy Orton! I can't stand that guy!"

Bischoff was surprised, to say the least. "What's wrong with Randy Orton? He's a talented wrestler, a handsome man, and not to mention the World Heavyweight Champion. How can you not like him? All the girls do."

"Because in addition to what you have just mentioned, he's a class-A jackass, a chauvinist, and a womanizer, that's why. Oh, and a coward, too. Randy's the kind of man I absolutely detest."

"But you don't even know him that well," Eric defended. "Why don't you give the kid a chance?"

I shook my head. "I'm fine keeping whatever shred of dignity and self-respect I have left, thanks very much. What's with this whole thing, anyway? He's already the champ, surely he doesn't need to juggle a romantic storyline with his ongoing feud with Triple H, does he?"

"Hey, he can't fight off all of Evolution by himself. The champ obviously needs someone on his side, and we thought you'd be perfect for the job. The higher-ups thought you'd look cute together, I guess," he said, shrugging. "Come on, just give it a shot."

"Alright, but I don't know what good it'll do. I hate him enough backstage, so I have no idea how we're gonna make it work on television."

"Thanks, Stacy, I knew you would. I'll give you the details later this week."

Before I twisted open the doorknob to leave the room, I turned back one last time. "Are you really sure there isn't any way out of this?"

"I'm afraid not," Bischoff replied, showing sympathy so uncharacteristic of his onscreen character. "It wasn't my idea to begin with. But I'll try to help you out of it if I can, alright?"

I nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Eric."

As I left, I saw my friend Lita standing outside the door to Eric Bischoff's office. She approached me with an inquisitive look on her face. "Well?"

"It's a love angle, Li," I replied as we walked together to the parking lot.

Her eyes lit up. "Really? Who's the lucky guy?"

"Randy Orton...ugh."

"Hey, Orton ain't bad. You two would look pretty cute together, actually."

"Why does everybody keep telling me that? Doesn't anyone understand that I HATE RANDY ORTON?" I demanded furiously.

"I don't know, you guys just have chemistry, I guess."

Chemistry my foot. "This sucks, Li. Of all the guys I could share chemistry with, it had to be the one individual I detest the most. What sin did I commit to deserve such punishment? Tell me, Li, tell me!"

She placed her arm around me comfortingly. "It's okay, Stace. Consider yourself lucky you haven't got it as bad as I do. At least you don't have to go kissing a seven-foot Uncle Fester lookalike with bad breath," she sighed.

"True. But that doesn't make my situation suck any less."

Well, it's pretty obvious that I won't enjoy doing this storyline at all. I can only hope that Eric can get me out of this as soon as possible.


	2. Anyone But Her

**Chapter 2: Anyone But Her (Randy's POV)**

**A/N: **Just wanna say thanks to everyone that reviewed! I didn't expect such a response to the first chapter, in fact I expected it to be ignored and that I'd have toss this story into the Recycle Bin, but...wow. I'm totally blown away. Thanks for the reviews, all, and keep 'em coming (be it a good review or constructive criticism) if you want to make sure that I don't wind up deleting this story due to lack of response, LOL. Each and every review is really special to me so...thank you!

Cold-Zephyr

* * *

Wow, she's cute. 

Tall, blonde, and man, she's got a pretty face. She catches my eye right as I retreat backstage after losing my title to that bastard, Triple H. It's injustice, I tell you, injustice with a capital I! But anyway, seeing the lovely blonde lady in the miniskirt and halter top standing by the lockers and talking to her redhead friend makes me (momentarily) forget about my frustration over losing. It's time I work my trademark Randy Orton charm on this babe.

Step 1: Smile my sexy grin at the chosen target. I do just that, only to have her scowl at me. That's weird...no girl has ever resisted my charms before. Maybe it's her weird way of showing she likes me?

Okay, proceed to Step 2 anyway: Approach the target and ask her out. She's still scowling as I saunter over to her. "Hey, sweet thing...how about you and me go out for some drinks tonight?"

"Go away, _loser._" The girl's burning holes into my head with her venomous glare while her redhead friend blankly stares on.

Hag. NOBODY turns Randy Orton down! Who does she think she is, anyway? I can't believe I even bothered wasting my time on her. The prude isn't even worth my effort, and besides, I don't go for flat-chested chicks. Ugh. So much for Step 3: Bring her home and bang her till her eyes roll back in her head.

A frown has replaced the grin on my face as I trudge back to the men's locker room, where I'm greeted by my ally and mentor (since being stabbed in the back by the bastards that make up Evolution), Chris Benoit. "Hey, Randy, you stud! I got news for you."

"Yeah?"

He's grinning ear to ear. "Bischoff told me to tell you about it. It's a new storyline, kid. A _romantic_ storyline."

Really? Just what I need then! A hot chick to stay by my side and aid me as I kick all of Evolution's asses and gain my title back! Apparently, his mood is infectious, as I find myself smiling as well. "Does this include making out with a major babe on national TV?"

"Yep," he replied, "all that and more!"

"Awesome! Who's the Diva?"

"That's the best part, kiddo. It's _Stacy Keibler_!"

Gee, that doesn't seem to ring a bell. "Uh...Stacy who?"

"Stacy f'ing Keibler, you dimwit! The sexiest Diva of them all! Tall, slim, beautiful, with long blonde hair..."

Oh. OH NO. Now I remember...it's that total prude who turned me down! Don't tell me I'm gonna be stuck in a storyline with _her?_ This can't be happening. Lady Luck doesn't seem to be on my side tonight. "You mean the flat-chested one?"

Please say "no," Chris, please...oh, god save me! "Well, she's more well-known for her long legs, but I guess you're on the right track."

OH GOOD GOD, NO! Why? Why have the heavens forsaken poor, poor Randall Keith Orton? No. I gotta be dreaming. Yeah, that's it...this is all just a horrible, horrible dream, and I'm gonna wake up the next morning in my bed still the World Heavyweight Champion, and more importantly, not caught up in this awful mess.

Chris snaps his fingers in front of me to regain my attention. "Randy? Randy, you don't look too happy."

"How in the world can I possibly be happy? I'm about to share an on-screen romance with the last woman in the world that I'd want to share it with!"

He looked confused. "What's wrong with Stacy Keibler?"

"She turned me down for a date and called me a loser, that's what."

"Wow, harsh. No woman's ever turned down Randy Orton before."

"Yeah, tell me about it." I leaned tiredly against the locker room wall and shut my eyes, still hoping that this was all just a nightmare.

Chris sighed and sat down on the bench next to me. "Unfortunately, it gets worse for you. They've arranged for you to share a dressing room with Stacy, in hopes of improving your backstage rapport."

Just when you think you've sunk to your lowest point, fate goes and grabs a shovel.

"Don't worry, Randy," he said in attempt to comfort me, "I'm sure things will get bet---" he stopped mid-sentence as he spotted Lilian Garcia walking down the hallway. Oh, that Chris. The whole locker room knows he's crazy about Lilian Garcia, yet he continues to deny it.

"Oh, Chri-is," I sang playfully, "the girl of your dreams just passed us. Aren't you gonna walk on over and say hi?"

"For the last time, Randy, I do NOT have a crush on Lilian!" His face was rapidly turning red as I laughed heartily.

"Yeah, go ahead and pretend that your huge-ass crush on her doesn't exist." Just like I'm trying to pretend that this whole load of crap I'm sinking in is all just a dream.

"We'll see who gets the last laugh once you start falling in love with Sta-a-a-a-cy Keibler," Chris teased.

I punched him lightly on the arm. "Mark my words, Chris Benoit: The day pigs fly is the day I fall in love with that hag."

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, time for a little reader interaction! I'd really like to know what you guys want to see in this story, so I hope you can take the time to review and answer a couple of questions for me, in addition to telling me what you thought of this chapter. First, who would you like to see paired up in this story with Lita? Also, would you like this Benoit/Lilian thing to continue, or do you disapprove of the pairing? 

Thank you for your time! And stay tuned to catch the next chapter (if people actually want to see another, LOL) of They Stuck Me With You.


	3. My First Day In Hell

**Chapter 3: My First Day In Hell (Stacy's POV)**

**A/N:** Again, I'm just so overwhelmed by your awesome feedback...makes me want to write more! Just keep them reviews coming, and I'll supply you with my painstakingly-slaved-over-just-for-you chapters. More reviews, more (and better LOL) chapters...it's the law of "supply and demand."

Thank you all so much! -Cold-Zephyr

P.S: Melissa, of course you gotta write more, hon. With talent like yours, you _always_ gotta write more. ;)

* * *

Getting forced into a stupid romance plot with the man I hate the most really sucks, but my poor best friend Lita is in the shits right now. How would you feel breaking up with your boyfriend of more than three years (I knew that Matt Hardy was a good-for-nothing jerk!), and then being forced to lock lips with the ugliest bastard on the face of the planet (not to mention having him knock the wind right out of you by dropping his 330-pound body on top of yours)? My situation is _nothing _compared to hers. 

"Why don't you complain to the General Manager?"

Lita sighed. "I can't…the ratings are against me. The 'Wedding From Hell' scored a freaking 4.8 rating. This is the first time that I've ever been unhappy about getting high ratings for a segment I'm in."

"Well, that sucks. How are things between you and Matt?" I hated making her uncomfortable by touching on a sensitive topic, but if I find out that he's still being a jerk to my best friend, I'm gonna slap his face off. It went like this: he started turning into a real jerk when this whole storyline with her and Kane started, acting more jealous than was necessary. Before you knew it, their relationship was similar to mine and my ex-boyfriend Andrew's (Test's) in its dying days. Matt and Li were arguing all the time like me and Andrew used to, until finally they just broke up…and it wasn't pretty.

"I'll get over Matt one of these days," she said, shrugging, but the sad look in her eyes told me she wouldn't be over him for a long time to come.

Suddenly, she spotted something on the dresser in the Divas' locker room. It was a scarlet scented envelope, with her name printed in elaborate gold letters on the back. Li remained silent as she picked up the envelope and opened it, not noticing that I was peering over her shoulder.

_Lita,_

_I'm not going to even try writing you a poem, because I'd probably just make a fool out of myself. And besides, no words could explain the way I feel about you…I've loved you from afar for so very long. Maybe one of these days you'll find out who I am…maybe._

"How stupid," I scoffed, "it doesn't even rhyme! That is so corny. Isn't it, Lita? …Lita?"

Funnily enough, that cheesy letter sent my best friend into her own little universe. I had to snap my finger several times to regain her attention. "Don't tell me you actually liked reading that piece of crap?"

She just smiled as she stared at the piece of paper in her hand. Oh, well…if it makes her happy, then I encourage that secret admirer of hers to continue sending those letters. Thank god something's actually gotten her around to smiling again.

"Hey, Stacy!" I turn around to the sound of that familiar voice and see Lilian Garcia standing by the open door. "Better get to your new dressing room before the directors catch you and force you to."

"Oh, crud," I groaned. "I hate having to stay in the same room as Randy."

"It'll be alright, Stace. I'm sure he's a nice guy." Yeah, right. And my name is Sandra Dee.

I decided to just face the music and stay in the same room as the devil incarnate like I was ordered to by the damned Board of Directors, when Lilian calls out to me one last time. "Stacy?"

"Yeah?"

"Randy's good friends with Chris Benoit, right?"

That's an odd question. "I think so…why are you asking?"

"Oh, nothing." I could have sworn I saw her cheeks turn the faintest shade of red as she said that.

* * *

The dressing room door that reads "Randy and Stacy" (ugh, I hate the mere sound of it!) towers in front of me like the gates of Hell. "Let the bloodbath begin," I sigh as I twist the doorknob open and enter.

It's a decent dressing room, really. I set my bags down when suddenly arrives the very person who makes this place a living Hell, and he's still seething over my turning him down last week.

He sets his luggage down on the other side of the room, and our eyes meet as he looks up.

"Don't get mad at me, _they_ stuck me with you," we both said at exactly the same time. Apparently the two of us share a feeling of resentment for the higher-ups as well.

"Alright, listen," I tell him in the most no-nonsense tone I could muster, "you stay on _your_ side of the room, and I'll keep to mine. Okay?"

Randy nodded with the scowl still on his face and walked back to his side of our shared dressing room. "No problem, you flat-chested witch with a capital B."

God, not another rude remark about my lack of cup size. I get enough of that from Trish "SLUT! SLUT!" Stratus. "What's that you said, jerk?"

He turned around and glared at me, fire burning in his eyes. He moved closer until there were only inches between us. "I said you're a hag with no rack!"

"You're one to start throwing insults, Mister I-Jobbed-to-Triple-H!" Hah---right where it hurts! Take that, Randy Orton!

"DON'T EVEN START, WOMAN!"

"TRY ME, BASTARD!"

And thus began our verbal boxing match. It snowballed rapidly, and things were about to come to a head (I had my left stiletto shoe in my hand, ready to hurl it at him) when the backstage coordinator for Raw popped his head in the room. "Guys, will you knock it off!"

Randy lowered his fist and I put my shoe back on as he continued. "I'm here to explain to the two of you how your storyline's going to begin tonight. Now sit down---and behave yourselves!

"Stacy, you're booked tonight in a match against Trish Stratus, which will end in a DQ victory for you since you're going to be double teamed by Trish and Tyson Tomko. This is where _you_," he said, looking at Randy, "come into the picture. Basically you just kick Tyson's ass and scare off the both of them, leaving you and Stacy in the middle of the ring. You two stare at each other for a few moments, and Randy, smile at Stacy before you leave the ring and head back to the locker room."

Oh no...don't tell me I'll be forced to look at his smarmy grin again. This is the pits.

Randy and I exchanged glances one last time as first few lines to my theme song played. Leaving the room to go out to the ring, I looked backwards as he called my name. "Stacy..._don't _screw up." What an arrogant jerk.

In the middle of the ring stood my opponent and my least favorite person in the world (next to Randy), Trish Stratus. Now, other heel Divas like Gail Kim and Molly Holly were nice backstage, but Trish's in-character personality was no different from the real life Trish. She, like Randy, loved making fun of me having a flat chest, while the devious harlot paraded around in outfits that exposed her Grand Canyon-like cleavage (which, by the way, are only a result of BREAST IMPLANTS). I hope they make her lose balance one day and fall in front of a bus.

"Well if it isn't our resident toothpick-shaped Diva," she teased as she stared up to look me in the eye.

"Trish, you suck so bad that if you stand any closer to me I'll pass out from a lack of oxygen." My retort resulted in a stiff slap across the face from Trish, and the bell rang to signify the start of the match.

No more than five minutes later, the bell rang again, this time to mark a DQ victory for me. Trish's man-bitch Tyson Tomko held my arms behind my back and Trish prepared to hit me in the face with another one of her god-awful slaps, when suddenly a sound of steel against skull was heard and Tyson let me go, having been whacked behind the head by a steel chair. I couldn't help but smile as I watched my arch-nemesis Trish get RKO'd by Randy Orton, even though I'm not particularly fond of the guy who kicked her ass.

Now for the part I'm going to love the least.

I looked up to meet his gaze, and we locked eyes for what seemed like forever. Wow...I never noticed that Randy had such a handsome face. Those chocolate brown eyes are beginning to make my heart melt---oh my god, what am I saying? Ugh! Maybe Trish's slap caused me some major brain damage, because there's definitely something wrong with me actually thinking _that_.

Randy smiled at me like he was instructed to, and this smile was different from the arrogant grin I'm so used to seeing plastered on his face. This smile was...nice. Sweet. _But that doesn't make me hate him any less!_ Anyway, he turned around and walked away, looking back one last time as he headed up the ramp. I was left standing in the middle of the ring as the crowd chanted "Randy! Randy!" (What is WRONG with these people?), and I stood there a few more seconds before leaving the ring as well.

I was greeted by the backstage technician as I returned to the back, only this time he looked pleased instead of angry like earlier. "Good work, you two! I can smell the ratings now."

For pete's sake, _please_ don't say that. I want this storyline to end _as soon as possible_.

Walking over to the couch where Randy was, I took a seat (as far away from Randy as possible), and listened attentively to what the backstage coordinator had to say next.

"Alright, now you two are going to be airing a backstage scene after the next two matches are over, so listen carefully. Stacy, you're going to be on your way back to the Divas' locker room when Randy catches up with you. Randy, I want you to ask her if she's alright, or something like that, just make it clear to the fans that you care about this girl. Then Stacy's going to be so touched by how much you care about her that Stacy, you're going to _kiss him._ Alright, match's ending soon---better be ready to smooch in five!"

Eww! I'd rather lick a dead rat, thank you very much! I opened my mouth to protest when he walked hurriedly away to attend to other Superstars, leaving me alone with the bane of my existence on the couch backstage.

"You're the last man on Earth that I would want to kiss," I said disgustedly.

"Glad to know the feeling's mutual, Miss Keibler. But you know what?"

I raised my eyebrow at him. "What?"

"You may have landed a role in Bubble Boy, which, may I add, was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it role, but Stacy, I bet you can't act for shit!"

_Nobody_ has any right to make fun of my acting skills! Making it big in Hollywood was my plan for the future, and I thought now would be a good chance to show him up. Yeah, I'll show 'em all, Randy especially, that _I_ can be the next Julia Roberts! They'll see, oh yes they will.

"Orton, you're on."

* * *

**A/N:** Apparently a lot of you _don't _want to see yet another Matt/Lita pairing. I'm still open for suggestions to who Lita's secret admirer is! And I'm glad you all like the Benoit/Lilian pairing, so you'll definitely be seeing more of it in the future! Thanks much!

Cold-Zephyr


	4. Now That's Good Acting

**Chapter 4: Now That's Good Acting (Randy's POV)**

**A/N:** Oh, I got his eye color wrong? Darn it, I can never get these things right! I made the same mistake in a previous story, where I thought that Trish Stratus' eyes were blue. Ha ha, silly me...don't mind the little error. Here's the next chapter, where things start to get interesting! Hope you like it (and I hope you let me know by reviewing LOL)!

* * *

"…And now I actually have to _kiss_ that woman! Good god, Chris, what's happening to me?" I don't want to do this. I really, really don't. 

Chris patted me on the shoulder comfortingly. "Come on, it can't be that bad. After all, hate her or not, Stacy Keibler is still a good-looking gal."

He had a point, but no way would I let those words come out of my mouth.

"Randy?" The backstage coordinator had just popped in the men's locker room. "You and Stacy are up next."

I nodded. "Okay. See ya around, Chris…if I even make it out alive."

She stood by the lockers, looking in her pocket mirror as she applied a final touch of lip gloss. What is it that drives women to reach such an unreasonably high point of vanity? I mean, sure, I like to check myself in every reflecting surface I pass by, and I like to make sure that not a single strand of my hair is out of place, and maybe I like wearing only signature clothing from Gucci and Armani, but I'm not as vain as _she_ is!

"Finally, you're here," Stacy said, smirking. "You're about to see just how good an actress I can be."

Did that prissy little harlot actually take my comment seriously? Oh, for the love of god.

"Places, everyone!" The backstage technician had just made his way to our filming spot, beads of sweat trickling down his pudgy face. He seems to be everywhere…maybe he's got the power of teleportation or something. "We've got thirty seconds till we start rolling."

The cameraman focused on Stacy as she got ready to begin the backstage scene. "Ready? And…action!"

Just like she was directed to, Stacy walked her way back to the Divas' locker room. I caught up after a few seconds. "Stacy, are you alright?" _Must…resist…urge…to…spit…in…her…face…_

"Yeah, I'm fine---"

"You had me worried there."

"Really?" she piped up, batting her dainty little eyelashes. Oh, how annoying.

"Yes, really. Stacy, I…"

I paused, acting all shy and running a hand through my hair. Stacy ain't the only one between the two of us who can act. Pretending that I actually give a damn about that horrible woman is no easy feat, but I'm Randy Orton. I can do anything. "I care about you a lot, Stacy. I don't wanna see you get hurt."

"You're so sweet, Randy." As she laid her hand on my cheek, I could feel my own hands shaking at my sides. I swear, I have no idea why they're doing that. And now it's my lips that are trembling as she pulled me…closer…and closer. Why am I acting this way? I don't even _like_ Stacy Keibler. Maybe it's because I'm about to do something horribly disgusting. I'm about to make out with an evil witch! Yeah, that must be the reason for all this shaking. But…she looks so beautiful up close.

Then, she kisses me, and I can feel the world around me disappearing. It's just me, and her, and this moment. The audience is cheering loudly, but they're a mere echo at the back of my head. I must be going spastic, 'cause my hands have involuntarily wandered to the small of her back, and I find myself deepening our kiss. It feels so wrong for me to kiss Stacy Keibler, yet in a way…it feels so right. I'm not sure, but I think I heard someone say "cut." Bah, maybe it's just my imagination.

Suddenly I feel someone tapping me on the shoulder. "Randy? Randy, you can stop kissing her now, the scene's over."

Damn, it is? I whip around to see the technician trying to hold back a giggle. Jerk. I look back at Stacy, who's looking wide-eyed at me with her mouth half-open. We just stare at each other for a few minutes, neither of us uttering a word, before I remember the fact that _I hate this woman_.

"Oh my God, I'm gonna spend the whole night brushing my teeth after that disaster!" I exclaim.

How relieving it is to see that familiar grimace back on her face. "Ugh, acting's a lot harder than I thought it would be. Someone give me some Listerine!"

"I'll get canker sores if I don't do something about this soon!"

"Forget mouthwash, I ought to burn my lips off!"

"UGH!"

"EWW, GROSS! I can't believe I _kissed you!_"

We sped in opposite directions, both of us wiping our mouths with the back of our hands as she walked towards that redhead Diva she always hangs out with (I think her name is Lita) and I made my way to Chris, who watched the whole thing from the bench next to the lockers and was grinning at me and raising his eyebrows.

"Looks like there was a little somethin'-somethin' _real_ going on behind that kiss, eh Randy?"

I scowled at my annoyingly-immature-for-his-age mentor as I sat down beside him. "Don't make me sick, man."

"Right, then," Chris laughed. "I better get going, my match is next." Bet he was eager to leave just so he could see Lilian Garcia again, that lovestruck fool. And with that, he left me sitting alone by the lockers. I subconsciously brought my hand to my lips…I could still taste her sweet kiss there.

Damn, I ought to go home and brush my teeth.


	5. Wandering Eyes

**A/N:** It's been great reading all of your reviews! Hope y'all will be able to give equally great feedback for this chapter, as it is you guys that inspire me to write. Thanks!

* * *

****

**Chapter 5: Wandering Eyes (Stacy's POV)**

My head was swimming in a pool of thoughts the day after.

_Where did he learn to kiss like that?_

_No, wait...that's wrong. I shouldn't even be thinking this! Just 'cause he's a good kisser---okay, a REALLY good kisser---doesn't make him any less of a jerk._

_But that kiss was really something else..._oh, lord help me.

I may be blonde, but of course I'm not dumb enough to let one little kiss make me forget what a huge, egocentric BASTARD Randy Orton is!

"Well, I dunno, Stacy...maybe it's letting such a good kisser like Randy Orton slip through your fingers that's dumb. Don't you think you're being a little prejudiced here? I mean, you hardly even know the guy," my best friend Lita reasoned as she brushed her wine red locks in front of the mirror.

I stomped my clad-in-designer-Manolos feet brattily. "Come on, Li, you know how he acted back in _our_---" I shuddered as I mentioned this word--- "dressing room! He was being such a total jackass! He's worse than Trash Stratus herself."

Lita laughed. "There's someone in this world who's actually _worse_ than that harlot? That's not humanely possible, hon."

"You know what I mean, Li."

"Hey, I was just playing. Anyway, if you hate Randy that much even after that breathtaking, _scintillating _kiss he gave you on Raw TV---"

"Oh, please." I rolled my eyes at her.

"---then I guess you're gonna have to stick through it 'till the angle is finally over. No romance storyline lasts forever, you know. And that very thought is the only thing that motivates me to stick to this awful storyline with Kane."

Yeah, that poor girl Lita. But at least she's got that secret admirer guy of hers to keep her spirits afloat (you should have tried the chocolates he sent her a couple of days ago---they tasted absolutely _divine!_). Who have I got to save me from the evil that is Randy Orton? _Nobody._

* * *

I checked my outfit one last time in the mirror: a sleeveless white turtleneck top and a black miniskirt (yes, I _am_ tired of wearing miniskirts all the time, but hell, it's a job requirement for poor old Stacy Keibler) before plunging into the depths of hell, a.k.a. my shared dressing room with Randy, once again. Hello, Satan. 

We were unusually quiet today, which is quite shocking if one would recall last week's---er---verbal altercation. Either we weren't in any mood to fight today, or that taped backstage scene made everything between us a little awkward. Even arguing with him felt more comfortable than this uneasy silence. I couldn't take it anymore.

"Cat got your tongue, Randall?"

He finished taping up his wrists before turning to face me with that familiar smug grin on his face. "So you want a rematch, eh, Keibs?"

"Oh, how on earth did you guess?" The sarcasm was absolutely dripping from my tone of voice. "And _don't_ call me Keibs."

"Alright, then. Let the battle begin." Still keeping his death glare locked on me, Randy took a step closer. But before even a single insult came out of his mouth, the chubby backstage coordinator had barged in again. He's got a knack for doing that.

His face was flushed and sweaty, probably from running his fat ass from room to room backstage. And yet he was smiling---I hated it when he did that. A smile from that guy normally meant that he _liked _this stupid storyline I'm stuck in. That's not a good thing. "Congratulations, Stacy, today is officially your first day as Randy Orton's valet! You'll be accompanying him at ringside later tonight."

My translation: Your eternal punishment for all the sins you have committed begins tonight. Please proceed to the torture room now where you will be hung upside down over a pot of boiling lava.

I felt all the color drain from my face as I nodded silently, and the pudgy man exited the room not too long after.

"Guess we'll have to hold off that yelling contest 'till next time. I have a match against Batista to get ready for. See ya later, Keibs," Randy said and left the room as well.

"DON'T CALL ME KEIBS!" I screamed, but the door had already shut on me.

* * *

Batista winked at me before squaring off with Randy. What a creep. Anyway, it was your usual match, nothing really special. I did my best to act like I actually didn't enjoy seeing Randy get hurt, which was one hell of a tough job to do. 

It was a real challenge for me to act all worried as Randy was on the losing end of this match. I got up on the apron as Batista hurled Randy towards the side where I was standing, when Randy reversed Batista's move and made Batista run towards the ropes, right into the four-inch heel of my red stiletto shoe (I had lifted my leg to introduce my heel to his face---no chauvinist pig hits on Stacy Keibler and gets away with it!). Oh my God...is Randy peering under my skirt? THAT TOTAL PERV! I quickly lowered my leg and jumped off the ring apron. Note to self: slap Randy Orton's face off the moment we step backstage.

Randy scored the pinfall victory (thanks to me), and I joined him the ring where he hugged me and held me really close to him (EWW!). He didn't let go of my hand as we walked towards the back, and he let go of it as fast as he could once we were out of the fans' sight. "Ugh, finally," he grumbled.

I was walking away when he called out to me. "Hey, Keibs...nice move there."

"Make no mistake, I did _not_ appreciate your staring up my miniskirt during the match."

He shrugged. "Come on, don't tell me you weren't askin' for it with that tiny shred of cloth you call a skirt."

_Damn it, I don't have any time for this_, I thought as I turned around and stormed away huffily. "For your information, I'm FORCED to wear miniskirts every Raw taping," I yelled at him without looking back.

The backstage coordinator (he seems to be _everywhere!_) caught up with me. "Hey, Stacy! You guys did a real good job back there, I'm impressed. If you both keep it up, this angle could last a good five to six months," he said cheerily.

Wonderful. Six more months putting up with that lame excuse for a man? Gee, that sounds like fun.

* * *

**A/N:** By the way, I'm still debating to myself on who Lita's secret admirer should be, but I was able to narrow the choices down to six: Shane Helms (a.k.a. the Hurricane), Chris Jericho, Jeff Hardy, Matt Hardy, Shawn Michaels (although I kind of agree with Melissa on this one) or Edge. The man with the most votes wins the spot as the beau of the lovely Lita! Get to voting, and check back next week for another installment of They Stuck Me With You! 


	6. Unexpected Hero

**Chapter 6: Unexpected Hero (Randy's POV)**

****

"Admit it, Benny-Ben-Ben...you _like_ Lilian, don't ya?"

"No." Chris tried to look as unfazed as possible, but no matter what he did he wouldn't be able to hide the fact that his face was turning redder and redder by the second.

"Oh, yes you do-ooo..."

"No."

"Don't deny it, man, it's as clear as day---"

"I do _not_ like Lilian Garcia."

And right when he said that, in walks Lilian herself. Hah, Benoit's red as a tomato now. What a total doob.

"Hi, Chris." She had that famous billion-watt smile on her face as she greeted him. "Good luck in your match tonight."

"Uh...thanks," Benoit replied, and watched her pass us by yet again. Man, I couldn't stand it.

"That's _it?_ 'Uh, thanks,'" I imitated. "You looked like a damn gorilla."

Chris shrugged. "Whatever, man."

"You like her, don't you?"

"No."

I give up. "Never mind, Christopher. Never mind," I sighed, and started walking away.

"Uh, Randy?"

I turned around. "Yeah?"

"I like Lilian." Chris may know a lot about in-ring strategy and skills, but when it comes to women, the guy's got a lot to learn.

* * *

Now for the next topic of discussion: my least favorite people in the world (well, if you can consider them as people), Evolution. Those sons of bitches stabbed me in the back not long after I had finally achieved my lifelong dream of winning the World Heavyweight Championship. I should've seen it coming: that belt is the object of Triple H's affection. He may be known backstage as Mr. Paul Levesque-McMahon (he married the boss's daughter, that man-whore), but we all know that what he truly loves is the championship title. And once I had it around my waist, he and his cronies, instead of being supportive, turned on me and made sure Paul got the belt back by any means necessary. Oh, such wonderful friends they are. 

Batista, in particular, became insanely jealous of me for achieving more than he has (and more than that talentless speck of turd ever will achieve in a lifetime), at the tender young age of 24. What the hell did he expect? That they would make _him_ the champ? Oh, get real! I'm better looking, I got more charisma, I'm more talented, and I'm JUST PLAIN BETTER than he is. Poor ol' Dave is just too dumb to see the obvious.

And there he is now, standing in the hallway as I walk towards my dressing room (I know, I know, it's Stacy's too, but who the hell cares about _her_?). He's got that disgruntled look on his face again as he stares me down, but then again, Dave Batista _always_ looks like he's constipated.

Oh, he's approaching me now. What in the blue hell does he want? "For the last time, Dave, I will NOT go on a date with you!"

"Very funny, Orton." Dave's as constipated-looking as ever. Maybe I should spike his Gatorade with a truckload of laxatives sometime. "You know, you've always been a real pain in the ass."

"Must suck for you, Batista, 'cause you're the biggest ass I know."

He can't think of a single retort at all, the doofus. So after an eternity of trying to rack his puny little brain for something witty to reply with, Dave finally gives up---and decides to sock me in the gut instead.

"Ugh...cheap shot," I reply before shoving him backwards. Dave retaliated by punching me right in the eye, sending me down to the floor where he started kicking my sides. To say that it hurt like hell would be a complete and utter understatement. I tried to get up, I tried to hit back, but there's only so much a guy can do when he's got a three-hundred-pound ogre beating the consciousness out of him. I curled up into a ball and just took the punishment, staring pleadingly at the open doorway for some kind of salvation. It's moments like these when I wish I had made more friends or allies instead of alienating everyone like I did when I was an elitist member of Evolution. Chris was in a match against Ric Flair at the moment, leaving no one available to help me since Chris Benoit was pretty much my only friend on the Raw roster.

Then I finally see something appear through the doorway. I thought that the person who showed up would come to my aid, but when I realize who it is, the fact that I'm royally screwed is further solidified.

Lying sideways on the hard concrete floor as Batista continued to kick me towards a painful death, the first thing I saw was a pair of feet wearing turquoise blue high-heeled stilettos, and there's only one woman I know on the whole Raw crew who wears stiletto shoes wherever she goes. My eyes travel upwards to recognize the familiar slender, 42-inch legs, and I start to think, "Oh, shit. I'm doomed." The feeling worsens as I see that the figure is wearing a little black miniskirt, and I look no further upward to avoid her (probably triumphant) glare at me.

Without even looking at her face, I can already tell that the person standing in the open doorway is---God forbid---Stacy Keibler. I'll bet she came to gloat and enjoy the sight of me getting beaten up.

But right when I expect my fate to worsen, Keibs throws me in for a loop and does the unexpected.

"Stop it, Dave!"

He paused for a moment to turn around and look at her as I achingly clutched my sides and winced. "Why should I?"

"You're hurting him!"

"I know," he laughed. Dave readied himself to give me another boot to the side, when Keibs stepped in between us.

"I said _stop_." She had this serious look in her eyes as she said this to him.

Dave was puzzled, and so was I. Since when did Stacy Keibler give a shit whether I was alive or dead? "Have it your way, then," he grunted and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Creep," she muttered before crouching down to check on me. "You alright, Randy?"

"Ah, it'll go away. Guess now I know what it really feels like to be an enemy of Evolution. But...why'd you save me, Keibs?"

She paused for a moment to ponder her answer. "I suppose nobody, not even a jerk like you, deserves that kind of treatment." Touché.

We stayed quiet for a while, me lying on the floor waiting for the pain to lessen while she sat beside me. "Thank you, Keib---I mean..."

"You can call me Stacy."

"Well...thanks for making the save, Stacy."

She smiled. "No problem. Come on, let's get you to a trainer to have your wounds checked."

Stacy helped me to the clinic by letting me one arm around her so that I could support myself while limping on one foot. And that moment, I knew that I had found myself a new friend I could count on. "Hey, Stacy?"

"Yeah?"

"I guess you're not so bad, after all."

* * *

Stacy was seated on a steel chair in our dressing room while I was lying down on the bench with my entire torso bandaged, waiting until I was feeling good enough to stand up again, when a good acquaintance of mine, Shelton Benjamin, barged in with an excited grin on his face.

"Guess what?"

I looked up to face him. "Yeah?"

"Next week, after the Raw show in Seattle, the entire crew's gonna party at The Harbor Club, which is one of Seattle's swankiest!" No wonder he was so excited: Shelton was pretty much the roster's biggest party animal.

"And your point is...?"

"Well, I said the _entire_ Raw crew is coming...including you! I'll see ya there, man!" And with that, Shelton zoomed out of the dressing room, perhaps to tell the other guys. I swear, that guy could give the Energizer Bunny a run for his money.

Stacy was still quietly sitting there, staring at the open doorway which Shelton had exited through.

"Hey, Stacy?" I asked her.

"What is it?"

"Uh...you wanna go with me? To the party, I mean?"

Stacy looked puzzled. "Why me?"

"Oh, I dunno...with you saving me and all, I guess no good deed goes unpunished." I offered her a small smile, which she reciprocated.

"Well, okay then. Why not?"

* * *

**A/N:** Looky, they're getting along now. But don't worry, folks, it doesn't stop there. What could possibly happen at the party next chapter? Stay tuned to find out! And also, I have _finally_ decided who Lita's secret admirer is...but I'm not tellin' ya who it is yet! You're gonna have to find that one out, too LOL!

Kisses,

Cold-Zephyr


	7. Convenient Illness

**A/N:** Thanks for your reviews again, I loved reading each and every one of them! Here's the seventh chapter (forgive the lateness, I had lots of work to do the past couple of weeks), and I hope you all like it (and like it enough to review, LMAO). Thanks guys, you rock!

P.S. Melissa, I actually wrote the whole Stacy stopping Batista segment pegging Batista as the type of guy who's too lazy to even try putting up a fight with a woman, in short, he thought Stacy wasn't worth the trouble, which is why he backed off. Thought I wouldn't have to explain it to you guys...well, guess I was wrong. So, there's the explanation, I hope you get it now. :)

P.P.S. Cleo Orton, I'm gonna make Stacy jealous alright---but with a _different_ Diva. See, I'd had this idea cookin' for a while now. But anyway, I added Trish into the mix, just for you! Hope you like it. :)

P.P.P.S. Monique-lee16, it's cliched because---cliches are the only fics I'm good at, LMAO! But I'll make an effort to be as original as possible this time. Don't hesitate to tell me what you think! Thankies!

* * *

**Chapter 7: Convenient Illness**

I don't even know why I said "yes" to Randy Orton's invitation, but well, here I am, eyeing myself in my full-length mirror to see if I look good enough for tonight's party at The Harbor Club. White tube top, check. Black jacket, check. Beige corduroy pants (to be safe in case Randy's eyes begin to wander again), check. And finally, black slip-on sandals, check (Randy said I ought to try something other than stilettos. Come to think of it, these sandals _are _pretty cute).

"_No_, Lita, I'm not all worried about looking good in front of Randy Orton. Puh-leeze."

My best friend, who was wearing a short, red, long-sleeved lace dress (Li always loved the color red), was unconvinced with my answer. "Yeah, sure, honey. I haven't seen you this nervous since Wrestlemania XX."

"Well, hello, it's The Harbor Club! Of course I gotta look my best. Besides, I might even meet somebody really cute there."

"Are you kidding me? You're already going to the party _with_ somebody really cute."

"_Whatever_, Li. Anyway, who's taking you to the party, if I'm going with Randy?"

She started blushing. "Well, Dave Batista asked me out, and I said 'yes'."

_Excuse me?? _Lita and...Dave?!? But that guy's a total asshole, no way would he treat her right! Lita deserves better. _Way_ better. What is wrong with her?

"Is..._Dave_ your secret admirer?" I asked, looking disbelievingly at the humongous bouquet of red and yellow tulips that Mr. Mystery had sent her recently. Dave is _sooo_ not the type who would send a woman such beautiful flowers...he's way too much of an insensitive bastard to even think of doing that!

"Well, no," Li admitted. "I still don't know who the guy is. And besides...how could any woman say no to Dave Batista? He's totally hot."

Excuse me while I puke. "Okay, if you say so. I ought to be going now, Randy's waiting outside. But, Lita..."

"Yeah?"

"Take care of yourself." I don't trust Batista at all...I have this nagging feeling that something bad might happen to Li tonight. I hope I'm wrong, I really do.

The above mentioned nagging feeling refused to go away as I met Randy Orton in the parking lot.

"Well...you look good." Randy was standing by his black Corvette when he saw me walking towards him. He's been considerably nicer to me since the whole Batista thing.

"Uh, thanks, I guess. You're not so bad-looking yourself."

He straightened out his white polo and smoothed his black tailored pants. "Of course I'm not. I'm Randy Orton, I always look totally irresistible," he proclaimed, smiling. Well, some things just never change.

"So are we going to this party or aren't we?"

"Don't get your panties in a twist, girl. Step inside," he said, and opened his car door for me.

* * *

Ever remember what the first party you've been to was like? I remember mine. I was around sixteen then, and it was a pretty wild sight: there were people getting wasted everywere, a number of students were passed out on the floor, boys and girls making out (and doing even _dirtier_ things) left and right. Now, I tried to act as cool as possible as I stepped inside the venue where that one party was held at (it was at a fellow student's house. His parents were away for a business meeting) in order to impress my then-boyfriend, the school's star quarterback; but deep inside, I was scared as hell. 

The Harbor Club party seemed to be giving off a similar vibe, only it was much more posh here. Champagne instead of beer, quality cigars instead of cheap cigarettes which some kid stole from the nearby store, the men gaped at professional strippers instead of horny boys staring at the school's resident sluts (despite what nasty things the jealous anti-Stacy female fans may say about me, I never was, am NOT, and never will be a slut), and there were _still_ couples making out left and right. I wasn't really scared about the party this time around, but I still disapproved of things like this. They're just not my thing, you know? But not like I'd want to look like a total square in front of Randy Orton and be subject to his merciless ridicule.

"Good party, huh?" Randy remarked as he flashed his trademark smarmy grin.

"I guess so."

We sat ourselves down at this big table where most of our other friends were: Christy, Victoria, Shelton, Gail, Shane Helms (a.k.a. the Hurricane), Nidia, Lilian, Maven, Chris Jericho, Chris Benoit, and many others.

Christy walked over to Shelton's end of the table and tugged at his tie. "Oh, I just _love_ this song! Can we dance, Shelton, pretty, pretty, pretty please?" Sometimes I wonder how many cups of espresso she can finish in one sitting.

"Sure, dollface," he replied, and let her lead the way to the dance floor while the rest of us looked on.

"Score one for Shelton Benjamin," Maven sighed. "Lucky dog."

Then he felt someone elbowing him, and turned to face Nidia. "Hey, Maven, wanna dance with me?"

Maven grinned like a kid at Christmas. I suppose he's the type who doesn't score with the Divas often. "Sounds awesome, let's go!"

Not too long after, everyone was dancing up a storm, and the only ones left at our table were me, Randy, Lilian, and Benoit. The latter two sat on opposite ends of the table, Chris staring blankly at the drink set in front of him while Lilian looked longingly at where everybody was dancing. I leaned over to whisper into Randy's ear. I just _love_ playing matchmaker! It's one of the little joys I experience while working in the WWE, and Chris and Lilian just seems absolutely perfect for my next project.

"I see a potential couple here just _waiting _to be paired up," I told him excitedly.

Randy turned the slightest shade of pink. "Who, us?"

"What?" I smacked him at the back of the head. "No, you moron!! I meant Chris and Lilian!"

"Oh," he replied stupidly. "Yeah, them. Okay."

Clearing my throat loudly enough for both Lilian and Chris to hear, I took Randy by the arm and stood up. "Me and Randy are gonna go get some more drinks at the bar. Come on Randy, let's leave these two alone to themselves."

"We will?" I gave him a second smack behind the head. "Oh yeah, we will. See you guys!"

I sat at the bar next to Randy, looking around at everyone who was there. Oh, so _there's_ Lita. And there's Batista, too, with an arm around her waist. She waved hello---or perhaps that was goodbye, as she and Dave were on their way out. I waved back, and when she wasn't looking, I gave Dave the best "hurt-her-and-you'll-never-live-to-see-another-day" glare that I could muster, but he just ignored me and walked on, squeezing Lita even harder.

Randy, on the other hand, was fixated on a certain Diva "shaking her thang" in the middle of the dance floor: Gail Kim. He continued drinking in the sight of her even as another Diva tapped him on the shoulder.

"Randy baby, why don't we get to know each other better---_way_ better---on the dance floor? Come on, sexy, it'll be fun," Trish Stratus urged, trying to sound seductive, although that annoying helium voice had the opposite effect.

"Get your piggy little hands off him, Trish," I said, eyeing her menacingly. For your information, I was NOT being possessive of Randy, but I'd shoot myself and then jump off a building if I found out that that witch had gotten hold of Randy. It's for his own good.

She returned my venomous glare before looking back at Randy. "Come on, sweetie, let's dance---"

Randy shook her off. "Didn't you hear Stacy? No? Then let me repeat it for ya, loud and clear: go the hell away, Trish. I got better things to do."

Feeling a little more than insulted, she took off angrily, and dragged her man-bitch Tyson instead towards the dance floor. I was impressed: that's the first cool thing I'd seen Randy do, ever. "Touché, Randy, touché."

"She ain't worth my time. Now _that_ chick right there," he said, looking towards the middle of the dance floor, "she's the one I wanna dance with."

I followed his gaze and saw Gail Kim continuing to wiggle and gyrate in her little white dress amidst everybody there. "Oh, I see."

"Think I should go for her?"

"Uh..." I paused for a long while. Now, Gail's an alright person, in fact she was one of my closer friends in the Diva locker room. But, I don't know...something in me didn't want Randy to leave my side. I have no idea why I'm feeling this way, normally I wouldn't even care about who Randy was with! Oh, what _is_ this feeling?

But before I could even tell Randy what I thought about him and Gail, he had already bolted towards the dance floor. Oh, well.

My focus was now directed towards the table where Randy and I were seated a while ago. Chris and Lilian were still there, and _still_ looking in opposite directions, only this time, Lilian would glance his way occasionally. She looked at me for encouragement, and I gave her a big grin and two thumbs up. She smiled and nodded at me before walking over to Chris, and I moved in a bit closer to hear better.

"Hi," she greeted him coyly.

"Hey."

"Uh, you...wanna dance?"

He stood and smiled at her. "Okay." Then he took her hand in his and they walked together to where everybody else was dancing. Aww, that is _sooo_ sweet. Perfect timing, too, as a slow dance had just begun. Dancing right next to them were Gail and Randy: she had her arms around him as they gazed into each other's eyes. All of a sudden I felt...I dunno, jealous of Gail.

I hurried towards where they were and tugged at Randy's collar. "Randy, I feel sick," I lied. "Could you drive me home?"

"Aww, Stace, you're ruining the moment here," he hissed.

"Please, I feel _really_ sick."

"Ah, fine." He let go of Gail reluctantly. "Sorry, babe," Randy told her. "Maybe some other time."

* * *

We had now reached my house. It was pretty dim; aside from the moon, the streetlamps were the only things lighting the street. Randy had an arm around me as he led me to my front door. 

"Thanks again, Randy."

"No problem. Are you sure you'll be alright?"

Well, I wasn't sick to begin with. "Yeah, I'll be fine. You know, I had a nice time tonight." I smiled at him.

"Me too," he replied, smiling back. "I'll be seeing ya next Monday; take care of yourself, alright?"

"Okay."

We stood around quietly, not knowing what next to do. I really wanted to kiss him at that moment, but I stopped myself from doing so and instead, I high-fived him. We bid each other good night, and as I watched him drive away, the feeling of loneliness began to wash over me. I really don't know where I stand with Randy: part of me really wants to be with him, and the other wants to keep distance, because somehow, it still felt wrong for me to be romantically involved with Randy Orton. After all, this was still the guy whom I not too long ago hated with every fiber in my body. But still...he was being such a sweet guy tonight...

Oh, well. Guess it's another night alone for poor old Stacy Keibler.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that wraps it up for Chapter 7! Stay tuned for the next chapter to find out whether Stacy's gonna keep spending _all_ her nights alone despite her newly-discovered feelings for Randy, what Randy's gonna do about it, and what Lita and Dave are up to while all this is happening. 'Till then, see ya! Don't forget to review and tell me how you liked (or didn't like) it! 


	8. Underdog of Your Heart

**A/N:** Okay, this chapter is different in that the story's going to be narrated in the POV of _neither_ Stacy nor Randy, but this time, it's **Lita** who's telling the tale. I warn you, this is one of the, if not _the_ most serious chapter of They Stuck Me With You, and it elaborates one of the story's subplots, namely the one involving Batista, Lita and her secret admirer.

P.S. Notes to some reviewers:

_Cleo Orton_ – See, I already had Gail in mind for that part. Since she's a nicer person than Trish, and one of Stacy's friends backstage (in this fic anyway), Stacy will have a harder time feeling jealous of Gail, thus adding to the drama. So, since I couldn't think of anything else to do with the Trish character, I had no other choice than to squeeze her in for that bit role as the snubbed one, LOL!

_Chicken Legs_ – Well, here it is! I hope you enjoy reading. :)

_Monique-lee16_ - The font size isn't in my hands anymore. If you'll check any story on you'll see that we all use the same font style (Verdana) and font size (10). As for longer chapters, well, last chapter was actually the longest one I'd ever made.

_Icy Rabbit, keikabee, MAVSFAN 2004_ - Read on, the answers to your questions are up ahead in this chappie! ;)

_Han Han Chan!!!_ - I use the name Lita because it's actually a sign of respect to wrestlers to call them by their ring names, even off-camera. Like, not many fellow wrestlers really call the Undertaker "Mark" (as in Mark Calloway) backstage. They respect him much, so they just call him 'Taker. So, same thing here with Lita and Stace.

_Randy's Lil Lover –_ Thank you. :) And yeah, actually I did know that Chris Benoit was married. But it's fiction anyway, so for this story, he's a single guy. Hope you still like it, despite that wee bitty stray from reality. :)

_Glow Box, RKOandLEGS, together, keikabee, Caroline M. James, huntersgirl, litachk9 and KeeKeeBaby_ – Thank you all so much for your glowing comments! Each and every one of you has really made my day! :D

**WARNING!** Some violence ahead in this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Underdog of Your Heart**

"Ow, you're hurting me!"

Dave loosened his grip on my waist as we continued walking to his car. "Sorry, doll, didn't mean to."

"It's okay." He gripped my wrist this time and led me---I don't know where this is, it's just some dark corner behind The Harbor Club. "Hey, this isn't the way to the parking lot! Dave, where the hell---"

"Shut up." Dave pinned me against the wall, and...he...proceeded to _crush his lips against mine_. Now on a normal day any girl (myself included) would kill to be manhandled by the oh-so-sexy Dave Batista, but this was _totally_ uncalled for.

I struggled to push him off. "You know, Trish wasn't really all that accurate when she said that girls like it rough," I said, laughing nervously. He wouldn't stop.

"But Lita baby, you are so hot, I can't help it..."

"Dave, please stop..."

Ignoring my plea, he tightened his grip on my shoulders and started kissing my neck hungrily. I found it getting harder and harder to breathe since Dave was pushing his heavy body against mine. Not the perfect way to end what would have been the perfect date. This wasn't supposed to happen, damn it! But no matter what I tried, I knew I would never be able to overpower Dave Batista.

He started tearing apart my red lace dress (sucks, too, 'cause that was my favorite). If I didn't do something soon, I knew I would end up bruised, aching, bloody, violated...and scarred for life, both inside and out. There was only one thing I was physically able to do to save myself: scream for help.

I tried. I seem to have lost my voice.

Tried again. Nothing.

Took a deep breath, and tried for a third time, praying to God somebody would hear it. _"PLEASE, SOMEONE HELP ME!!!!"_

"Scream all you want. All the other ladies do," Dave laughed, keeping me pinned against the wall. Looking straight into those evil, sneering eyes made my blood begin to boil. God, I hate him.

My dress hung loosely on my body by the few threads left undamaged. I clutched on to it tightly as Dave tried to pull it off me by the hem, and thus began our tug-of-war with my poor, tattered dress. I took this opportunity to scream again for someone to save me. "HELP!!!"

"Resistance is futile, babe, deal with it. You know you want me."

I couldn't take it anymore. My fist almost involuntarily flew right towards his eye. Take that, you bastard.

"Ow!" He bent over and winced, holding both his hands to the eye that had just gotten introduced to my hand. Unfortunately for me, Dave got up quickly, and now held me up against the wall by my neck. I could barely breathe.

"Alright, you little bitch, you asked for it!"

Not wanting to see anything of the doom that awaited me, I shut my eyes and felt my body and my mind just...give up. I lost my battle against Dave Batista.

My whole world was slowly turning back as I was quickly running out of air, thanks to his iron-tight grip on my throat. Dave held my dress in his tight fist, ready to tear it off in just one pull and leave me at my most vulnerable. But before a single thread of the few that remained intact tore apart, I heard a loud "_thunk!"_, followed by the sound of a body collapsing to the ground. It sure as hell wasn't mine, as I could feel myself still standing there against the wall, only this time, no one was pinning me up by the neck anymore. No one was holding on to my dress either. What happened?

Very slowly, I opened my eyes to find out.

Laying motionless on the floor was Dave Batista's unconscious body. I looked further up and I saw, standing in the shadows, the silhouette of a man a little less than six feet tall holding a lead pipe in his right hand. This man, I figured, was my rescuer.

"That son of a bitch," he muttered, looking down at Batista. Then, his eyes met mine. "Are you okay?"

"S-s-sure, I'll be fine."

Eyeing me up and down, he noticed all the bruises that covered my body and knew that I was a little less than okay. He took off his leather jacket and covered me with it. "Come on, I'll take you home."

I took this chance to see who my hero was now that he had stepped into the dim light, and I found myself looking into the eyes of...

..._Shane Helms._

Can you say "shocker"?

* * *

Shane drove me back home in his car, and I was now lying on my couch as he sat near me, treating my wounds. He may have looked different than his on-screen character The Hurricane, with his hair a nice shade of brown instead of green, plus a white shirt and leather jacket instead of his usual dorky superhero costume, but either way, he was still a hero. My hero. 

He carried me to my bed and tucked me in. "Are you sure you'll be alright by yourself, Lita?"

"Yes, I'll be fine," I replied, nodding.

"I ought to be going then. See you on Monday."

He stood up and turned to walk out the bedroom door, but I held on to his hand. "Hey, Shane?"

"Yeah?"

I paused for a moment, looking deep into his eyes. "I...can't thank you enough, I really can't. I owe you my life."

Shane smiled softly. "S'alright, Li," he said, squeezing my hand. A few seconds of silence passed between us, when he finally spoke again. "But...I gotta tell you something."

"What is it?"

He nervously tugged at his collar and looked everywhere except at me. What could he possibly have to say to me that is so important?

"I...uh...you know..."

"Know _what_?"

"You know that there's a guy in the Raw locker room who's been sending you lots of gifts and stuff, right? A secret admirer?"

Funny, I'd forgotten about that up until this moment. "Yeah, why?"

"Because you see...I gotta confess...that..._I'm _that guy, Li."

I was floored. "What?"

"I'm in love with you. It's okay if you don't feel the same way, but I just had to tell you the truth, because...what I feel for you is a feeling that isn't gonna be going away anytime soon." He took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. "But it's okay, I can just bury my feelings and live my life on as Shane Helms, a.k.a. The Hurricane, Sunday Night Heat's ultimate underdog...and in addition to that, the underdog of your heart. Point is, I'm in love with you, Lita, and I always will be, requited or not."

It took me a while to finally say something. "Well...I'm absolutely speechless," I told him honestly.

"You know, it's alright, I ought to get going anyway," he muttered and quickly stood up to leave, but again, I didn't let go of his hand. I just knew I couldn't. I know true love when I see it, and I wasn't letting it slip right through my fingers that easily.

"Stay. Please, Shane, stay with me."

He turned around to face me. "Really?"

"Yes." I stood up, laid my hands on his cheek, and kissed him softly. Gently. Sweetly. Hopefully then he'll understand that I really meant what I said.

* * *

I spent hours just lying in his arms as he held me close to him. "Can you just spend the rest of the night with me, Shane? I don't wanna be alone." 

"Sure, Li...I'll be right here for you, whenever you need me, for the rest of your life. I promise."

And then, I knew: I'd finally found that someone who would make my entire world alright again.

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, people, the mystery's been revealed, and the secret admirer really is Shane Helms! I know some of you may be disappointed with my decision, perhaps hoping it would've been a Hardy boy, but I hope you all still like my story (and hopefully some of you approve my decision). See, I just couldn't resist it...I love rooting for the underdog, I suppose. :) 

Check back next time to find out how Randy and Stacy are doing while all this was going on, or where Lilian and Chris are headed next, and whatever other surprises that are in store, all in the following installment of They Stuck Me With You! Thanks a lot, people!

Love lots,

Cold-Zephyr


	9. Unscripted

**A/N:** Finally, Chapter 9! Forgive the lateness (again), the bug held me back. Anyway, things take an interesting turn in this chapter between Stace and Randy...read on to find out what!

(P.S. Congrats, MAVSFAN, for being the 100th reviewer! I'm so happy...reaching the one hundred mark is a dream come true for me!!! Continue to show the love, and I'll continue to pour my loive into these painstakingly-slaved-over-chapters! Thank you all!!!)

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* * *

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**Chapter 9: Unscripted (Stacy's POV)**

The days that have led up to this Sunday have been spent mulling over my situation with Randy. I've found it absolutely impossible to stop thinking about him, so I finally caved in.

I think…that…I'm in love. With Randy. Orton.

And it absolutely sucks.

Feeling this way about me leaves me subject to at least one of three things: self-degradation, humiliation, and ridicule. I mean, of all people, it just had to be _Raaaandy_. Formerly-my-very-worst-enemy Randy. Egocentric-selfish-and-pompous-bastard Randy. Sweet, kind Randy…oh, _no!_

"What do I do?"

Li, seated in front of me on her comfy red sofa, rested her chin on her hand and pondered my query. We were spending the sunny afternoon just chilling at her house and talking about last week's Seattle party. My jaw had been hanging open earlier on as she told me about everything that had happened to her there, from what Batista had (almost) done to her in the parking lot, to the arrival of her unexpected hero, Shane Helms (who, at the moment, left the house to get us some Ben and Jerry's ice cream), and finally, Shane's shocking revelation (it had been _him_ all along? I still can't believe it!). But ever since Shane, Lita's life had taken a turn for the better. She had someone to be there for her all the time, someone to protect her from Dave, and for the first time in a very long time, Lita was truly in love. I felt so happy for her.

Then we started talking about me and my situation, and that's how we led up to this point, wondering what I should do about my persistent feelings for Randy.

"This won't be easy, Stace, but I think the best thing for you to do is to tell him."

"_Tell him?_ Are you nuts?"

She sighed. "I didn't say it would be easy. But come on, Stace, do you think you'll be getting over your feelings for Randy anytime soon?"

"…No."

"Well, there's your answer for you."

Damn. She had a point. "I guess you're right, Li. Okay, I'll tell him later tonight." What have I got to lose?

* * *

Monday night came all too soon. I sat all alone in our shared locker room, anxiously wringing my hands. They felt as cold as ice. My gaze was locked on the doorway, waiting, just waiting, for Randy to arrive. I'd rehearsed my plan over and over again in my head the entire day: I'd play my part as the best manager/valet ever tonight, in hopes of impressing him, and then right after his match, we would be all alone together in this very locker room. And _then_ I'd confess. It was a picture-perfect plan. 

Sending my heart about twenty feet into the air was the sound of the door bursting open.

Well, well, if it isn't Randy Orton himself. "Hey, Stace, what's up?"

_I've been having sleepless nights this past week all thanks to you, that's what's up. Maybe I'd be better off if you were still a jackass. At least then I wouldn't be so crazy about you._ "Oh, hi Randy."

"Okay, here's the deal," he said, sitting beside me on the white couch. "You've gotta be at the top of your game tonight, because this match could either make or break me."

I leaned in and listened attentively.

"My match tonight is a tag-team match: me and Benoit versus Triple H and Batista."

"Just a tag match?"

"No, see, there's a little stipulation at the end of it. If my team wins, I get a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship on the following Raw." His eyes gleamed like a kid at Christmas. "If my team _loses_, however, I'll never get a title shot ever again in my life. And I just can't let that happen." He desires that title with such passion that I wish _I_ were that title belt.

"Okay," I told him, nodding. "If you want that title so bad, I'll make sure you score the win tonight."

"Thanks, Stace. I knew I could count on you." He smiled at me. "Hey, I gotta get ready for my match and discuss my strategy with Chris. See you later, okay?"

"Sure."

As the door closed behind him, leaving me by myself again, I walked over to the mirror and checked my outfit from head to toe (Lita had helped me to pick out an outfit for tonight). My hair was perfectly blow-dried and curled just right, my diamond chandelier earrings, necklace, and bracelet all matched, my short, glittery black asymmetrical dress looked good on my tall and slender frame, and I was wearing my favorite black stiletto sandals (you can never go wrong with stilettos, that's what I always say). I looked pretty good, if I may say so myself. After all, "dress to impress" was the motto of every Diva here (except maybe Molly Holly).

Tonight was _the_ night. No way would I allow myself to screw up. Randy was sure to win the title shot he so desires tonight…and hopefully I'm going to win over my Randy tonight as well.

"Stacy!"

"Huh?"

Looking behind me, I saw Lita walking in through the doorway and closing the door behind her. "Aww, hon, you look great! I'm sure you won't be having any problems scoring with Randy tonight."

I blushed pink. "You really think he likes me back?"

"Yeah," she replied, placing an arm around me. "I'm your best friend, Stace, I know these things."

A knock came on the door. "Miss Keibler," came the familiar voice of the backstage director. "You and Randy are up next."

"Alright," I yelled back. I turned to Li. "Well, it's showtime."

Li gave me a reassuring pat on the back. "Go get 'im, girl. Me and Shane will be rooting for you backstage."

* * *

I caught up with Randy and Benoit right behind the black curtain. "Hey, guys!" 

Randy smiled at me as Chris waved hello. "You look…beautiful, Stace," Randy told me. I felt myself blushing to the roots of my blow-dried hair.

"Thanks, Randy. By the way…can I talk to you? Later after the match, in our dressing room?"

"Yeah, sure…but what for?"

Before I could even get a chance to reply, the loud guitar riff of Randy's theme song started blaring from the loudspeakers.

"Let's go, you two," Benoit called out as he led us towards the ramp. "We can't screw this one up."

As Randy squared off against Triple H, I had successfully started a "Randy! Randy!" chant with the audience. It's kinda funny, if one would remember how I hated the fans for chanting "Randy! Randy!" a few weeks ago when we had just started our romance angle.

At this point in the match, Randy tagged Chris in at the same time that Triple H tagged Batista in. The crowd was a hundred percent behind Chris, and for a while he took control, but that behemoth Dave eventually gained the upper hand. I couldn't stand it. My blood began to boil. I still hadn't forgotten what Li told me last Monday.

I had the nagging urge to strangle every ounce of life out of Dave Batista for what he did to my best friend, Lita! Unfortunately, I'd risk getting fired and then imprisoned for murder, so I did the next best thing: climb into the ring and smash a steel chair behind his head while the ref wasn't looking. Man, did that feel good!

Chris, who was rather worn out at this point, managed to drag himself to Randy's corner and make the tag while Batista still lay on the floor, barely conscious. He went for the pin. 1…2…3…Randy and Chris win the match! I couldn't be happier for them. Now there's one last thing I gotta do tonight.

Setting down the chair in my hands, I climbed up the steel steps to get in the ring and congratulate the two of them---but before I could do so, somebody beat me to it.

A livid Triple H managed to get hold of his beloved sledgehammer…and every wrestling fan knows something bad's about to happen when you put Triple H and a sledgehammer together.

"RANDY, BEHIND YOU!"

My warning came too late. Trips managed to clock Randy in his lower back, sending him to the floor. Benoit, who tried to make the save, got sucker-punched in the gut by the now-fully-awake Batista for his efforts. Why did I get the feeling I wouldn't be able to persuade Batista to stop this time?

I could only look on in horror as the two goons form Evolution started double-teaming Randy. Ever had anyone tell you wrestling is fake? Well, they lied. So maybe most of the time it doesn't hurt as much as it looks, but it _does_ hurt. And this time, it was pretty safe to say that they weren't faking their beatdown on Randy. This wasn't even in the script!

"Security! Medics! Somebody _help!_"

Five seconds later, the first people I saw come down to help were Lita and Shane, followed by at least a dozen paramedics and security guards. Shane was first to pull away Batista from Randy. Turning around to see who was interfering, Batista's face met with Shane's fist. Yeah! Go, Shane!

The security guards eventually managed to hold back both Triple H and Batista while the EMT's and paramedics gave Randy and Chris immediate medical attention. Randy was bleeding buckets, and I was damn worried.

"It's okay, hon, it's okay," Li said, also holding me back as I tried to struggle free and kick Triple H and Batista's asses. Hot tears were streaming down my face.

"You assholes!" I yelled to them. "I'll _never _forgive you!"

They only laughed at me. I sank to my knees and buried my face in my hands, still sobbing hysterically.

This was how tonight's Raw ended: Paramedics were carrying away an unconscious and bleeding Randy Orton on a stretcher, while his tag-team partner Chris Benoit followed closely behind. In the middle of the ring, Randy's onscreen girlfriend Stacy Keibler was crying her eyes out and being laughed at by two dickheads from Evolution. It is at this point where your TV screen fades to black for the end credits.

Was this how _my_ story would end? I honestly don't know. I do know that tonight I had been robbed of my chance to finally confess to Randy my true feelings for him. Would I ever get that second chance?

Well, I don't know the answer to that one, either.


	10. Realizations in the Subconscious

**A/N:** Thank you all for reviewin' again!This latest chapter is quite a pivotal one, despite the fact that nothing goes on here except for a BIG change in Randy's personal thoughts and feelings. Enjoy!

P.S. An extra-special thanks goes out to _Valerie/HardcorexWWExFan_---I'm really touched to hear you say that this is the best fiction you've ever read, comments like yours are what keep my muse alive! I'll be exerting some extra effort into these next chapters to ensure that you get only the best from yours truly. 'Till then, continue to show the love! Can't wait for your next review!

P.P.S Oh, and _Han-Han-Chan_, I would be greatly honored to have my story saved in your folder. :)

* * *

**Chapter 10: Realizations in the Subconscious (Randy's POV)**

…Where am I?

God, I can't even see anything but total darkness. What's going on? What happened? Am I…_dead,_ or something? The last thing I can remember is that me and Chris won the match (thanks to some help from Stacy), and I was totally stoked about getting a title shot for next Monday, when suddenly, I felt this sharp pain in my lower back. Then I was on the ground and Triple H and Batista were kicking me and hitting me and beating me bloody. I heard screaming, too. I think it was Stacy, calling for help. And then Shane Helms was there and he punched Batista right in the kisser, and some EMTs came to check on me and Chris, and Chris was fine but I couldn't even stand up. My whole world was fading to black, and the last thing I saw before passing out was Stacy, down on her knees, crying. I don't get it…why was she crying? Was she actually worried…about me?

Stacy. I wonder how she's doing now.

I remember the first time I saw her. She was _hot._ Love at first sight, or so I thought. I sauntered over to her to try and score a date, but she wasn't at all hesitant about turning me down. She even called me a _loser_. No one's ever called me a loser. That kind of put her on my bad side. No, that put her on my worst enemy side.

Then I found out through my buddy Chris Benoit that me and Stacy were stuck in a storyline together. Any other guy would've loved being in a romantic angle with Stacy Keibler, but not this guy. I was pissed. I hated Stacy. And to make things worse, I was forced to share a dressing room with her.

"They stuck me with you," we had told each other at the exact same time. I couldn't stand her, and she couldn't stand me. We got into a lot of petty arguments, and the hate just kept on growin'.

And then there was our first onscreen kiss. I dreaded it, but as much as I hate to admit it, I _liked_ it. I just…felt something, you know? Like a tiny spark. I denied feeling anything, though, and pretended to hate kissing her.

I also remember when I was getting my ass kicked backstage by Batista. Guess who showed up? Of all people, it was my worst enemy, Stacy Keibler. I thought I was doomed, but she threw me in for a loop and actually saved the day for me. In return, I decided to invite her to the Seattle party.

I had my eyes on Gail Kim the entire night…but it's only now that I realize I'd been after the wrong girl. The one I should have gone after was the one who was standing right beside me as I ogled Gail. The one who, despite hating me with every fiber in her body, actually _saved _me from death by Batista. The one who was always there.

It's only now that I realize that I…_I love Stacy._

All the times she'd been there for me, all the moments we've shared have slowly crept up on me and bitten me on the ass. And damn, it hurts to be in love. It's more than just some stupid crush. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Should I tell her or just push it aside? Or is it too late 'cause I'm already dead? Or is this all just some big, scary nightmare? Oh, I don't know.

Her face…her smile…her voice…her kindness...I can't get her out of my head.

Flashback to my last day in the men's locker room before being forced to stay in the one I shared with Stace:

"_We'll see who gets the last laugh once you start falling in love with Sta-a-a-a-cy Keibler," Chris teased._

_I punched him lightly on the arm. "Mark my words, Chris Benoit: The day pigs fly is the day I fall in love with that hag."_

Maybe I should be on the lookout for flying pigs now.

Maybe I should just be honest with Stace. It's not like I'll get over my feelings for her that easily.

Maybe I should just sit and wait for this all to go away.

Maybe…we'll just see what happens.

Oh, and one last thing I remember: right before our match against Trips and Batista, she asked me something. "_Can I talk to you? Later after the match, in our locker room?_"

Guess I never made it back to the locker room, did I? Oh well. I wonder what it was that she had to say to me.

I'm still plunged in darkness (both literally and figuratively), and I haven't the slightest clue about what's going on. I can feel myself just lying down, completely limp and motionless.

Suddenly, I feel a hand squeeze mine.

…Stacy…?

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**A/N:** My apologies for this evilsecond cliffhanger...I swear, the next chapter will have some answers! Stay tuned for the eleventh installment called "All I Ever Wanted" to find out how Stacy tries to drag herself through Raw without Randy there, what happens to their romance storyline now that Randy's unable to appear on TV. 

Awaiting your reviews!

Love lots,

Cold-Zephyr


	11. What I Wanted

**A/N:** Thank you again for your reviews, and thank you for having the patience to stick through another cliffhanger! Hopefully this chapter will provide a few answers for you. Enjoy reading, and don't hesitate to click that cute little Review button when you're done! Thanks, ya'll, once again, you rock!

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**Chapter 11: What I Wanted (Stacy's POV)**

"Excuse me, Miss Keibler? Miss Keibler?"

I woke up to find myself in the chair next to Randy's bed in the hospital room, the young, curly-haired nurse cautiously waving her hand in front of my face to see if I was awake. I looked to my left to find that I was still holding on to Randy's hand. I'd never let it go the entire night. Randy was a heartbreaking sight to see: unconscious (for about three days now), bruised, heavily bandaged and pale from a huge loss of blood. I wasn't in great shape myself, with my hair very disheveled and my eyes bloodshot from crying so damn much.

"Wha---?"

"Three days have passed already, and it doesn't look like Mr. Orton will be waking up anytime soon. Maybe you better go home and rest first."

"But I want to stay here with Randy! I've been waiting here three days and three nights for him to wake up so that I can tell him that I love him!"

She sighed, eyeing me disdainfully like I was some dirty, smelly animal on the street. "I know, sweetie, and that's really nice, but look at you. Starving yourself and not getting enough sleep will do no good for either of you two."

"Okay," I said, defeated, "but I'll be back soon, I promise you that!"

She helped me out of my chair and out of the room. "You take care now, all right?"

* * *

I looked better for Monday night than I did at the hospital, but I missed Randy like crazy. I was going nuts. 

Chris Benoit and I were both bummed out about Randy not being here: he missed his protegé and best friend, and I missed the love of my life. We were slumped back on the soft couch, staring into space.

I broke the silence with a question. "Hey, what are we gonna do about Randy's title shot now that he can't wrestle?"

He merely shrugged in reply. Then after a few seconds, it hit me. "Oh, I know! Why don't _you _go for it, Benz?"

Chris looked at me disbelievingly. "Really, you think so?"

"Yeah! I'm sure Randy would've wanted it to be you. You deserve it! Come on," I told him, dragging him by the wrist to see Eric Bischoff about it before he could even protest.

I knocked on Eric's door. "Come in," came the muffled reply.

"Can I help you, Stacy? Chris?"

"I've got an idea," I began. "Since Randy's out on injury, and it would be a total shame to let that hard-earned title shot go to waste, I was thinking, why don't we give it to his tag-team partner?"

He looked at me, then at Chris as we waited anxiously for Eric's decision. Minutes seemed to crwal slowly by like hours. Finally, he made up his mind.

"Sounds like a great idea! You got the match, Benoit: tonight's main event is gonna be you against Triple H for the World Heavyweight Championship!"

I hugged Chris in congratulations. "Great! Don't let Randy down, 'kay?"

"'Course I won't."

We were about to exit the office, when Eric called out from behind. "Stacy, please stay a moment, I have to talk to you."

Slightly puzzled, I let Chris go on ahead. "What's it about, Mr. Bischoff?"

"It's about Randy. He's been hospitalized, right?"

I nodded gingerly.

"Well, I took advantage of this situation to help you out, and I managed to convince the writers to scrap your romance storyline. You are now free from your worst nightmare," he said, smiling.

Free from it? My worst nightmare had just gotten even worse! "What?"

"You heard me: you're now Randy-free. We'll probably put you in a gimmick match next week until we come up with a new angle for you."

My face went pale. "Oh. Okay then."

"What's wrong, Stacy? You don't look too happy. I thought this was what you wanted?"

Poor Eric. I know he meant well, but he was just too slow to see that my feelings for Randy had taken a 180-degree turn from hate to love. Well, I don't want to give him any more white hairs than he already has. "Yeah, sure…it _is _what I wanted. Thank you, Eric."

"No problem, Stacy. You have yourself a good night now, alright?"

"Okay." _Are you kidding me?_

I was back to bumming out on the couch (nothing else to do tonight, anyway). Lita was onscreen. It was her against Molly Holly, which she obviously won, and now she was on the receiving end of a beatdown by Molly. Now for the good part: enter Shane, in his dorky but cute superhero costume, to save the day for Lita. Down goes the evil Molly, and he helps up his lady, Lita, and the two share a small, lovely kiss in the middle of the ring.

Aww, how sweet…if only that could happen between me and Randy (I mean in real life, not onscreen). But you can't have romantic scenes like that with a guy who's in a coma.

Moments later, the enviably lovey-dovey couple joined me backstage. "That brought a tear to my eye, Li."

"Shut up," she laughed, punching me lightly on the arm.

"Come on, Lita, no violence," Shane joked. "What's say we all go out for burgers? My treat."

We both perked up at the sound of free food. "I'm game!"

Lita, who was between me and Shane, had an arm around the both of us as we walked side by side towards the exit. In the hallway was Tyson Tomko, leaning against the wall, smirking.

"Hey, dollface," he called out to me, "heard you finally got rid of that pussy Orton."

"What's it to you?"

"Well, babe, it's time yougot yourselfa real man." Tyson came closer to me and placed a hand on my cheek, which I quickly swatted away.

I slapped him hard across the face. "Back off, jerk!"

"Why you---"

Before he could come any closer, Shane stepped in between us. "She said 'back off.' What part off that don't you understand?"

"You stay out of this, geekboy!" he said, shoving Shane aside. "You _will_ be mine, babe," he whispered in my ear and walked away---but not before being stopped by Li.

"Get outta the way, bit---"

Even before he could finish his sentence, Lita kicked him right in the groin. "Don't you dare call my boyfriend a 'geekboy', ya hear?"

He nodded and winced in reply.

"Come on, guys, let's go," she said,leading us out of the hallway. "Stacy, you better be careful about men like that."

"I got it, Li."

As we continued on towards the exit, I couldn't help thinking that this wasn't the last I was going to see of Tyson Tomko. Oh, where's Randy when you need him?


	12. Go For It

**A/N:** Sorry, once again, for that last cliffhanger. Hopefully this chapter won't be as frustrating LOL. By the way, Chapter 12 is narrated in the point of view of Chris Benoit this time. Hope you like it! And continue to show the love, y'all, I've always enjoyed reading your reviews! Looking forward to doing so again!

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, everyone!

**Note: **I just want to remind everybody that _this story is NOT a canon, _meaning it isn't based on the actual events on Raw, and this story may contain some fictitious matches, like the one following.

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**Chapter 12: Go For It (Chris Benoit's POV)**

I want it.

Sure, I was happy for Randy when he won it from me at Summerslam and enjoyed the spotlight he so deserved, but deep inside me lay an irrepressible hunger for it. I just had to get it back, and now's my chance. No way am I going to blow it. Besides, I ought to do these fans a favor and give them thirty less minutes of Triple H on Raw.

That World Heavyweight Championship…is mine.

My thoughts are interrupted by someone calling my name from the open doorway of the men's locker room, one certain Stacy Keibler. "Hey, Chris, can I talk to you outside for a sec?"

I put down my bottle of Gatorade and followed her out the door. "What's it about? I'm kind of busy right now, in case you haven't noticed."

"I asked Bischoff for the rest of the night off and he allowed it, so I'm not gonna be here tonight."

And miss out on some face time on live TV? "Why'd you do that?"

"Well, I'm going with Li and Shane to McDonald's for some burgers, and then I'm gonna go visit Randy in the hospital."

God, that's like the _thousandth_ time she's done that now. "Come on, Stace, again? Just write him a 'get well' card or something. This is _Monday Night Raw_ that you're missing!"

Her expression seemed both pained and desperate. "You don't understand, Chris, I…I…"

I merely cocked my head to the side and raised an eyebrow while waiting for her to finish her sentence. Damn it, miss, you're wasting my precious time here! I have the most important event of my life to get ready for! I need to _train_, not play shrink to some crazy woman like you!

"I love Randy!"

She _WHAT_? I thought he hated her? I thought she hated him? Stacy…_loves_…Randy…Orton? Ah, cripes, that doesn't sound right. "Did you just say…what I heard you say?"

Stacy nodded slowly. Then she started on a _loooong_ explanation, rambling on and on really fast and fitting everything into one sentence. "Yes, I do love Randy and I have to be there for him at the hospital and wait for him to wake up so I can tell him how I truly feel about him because I am butt-crazy head-over-heels beyond-all-explanation in love with Randall Keith Orton."

Okay, I need about ten minutes to process that in my brain. "Well, I don't know what to say, Stace. Uh…go for it, I guess."

For a moment, she stood there with her lower lip trembling, then all of a sudden she started hugging me to bits, sobbing into my shoulder. I kinda felt sorry for the poor kid. "God, Chris, do you think he'll be alright?"

"I'm sure he'll be just fine, Stace."

"Okay," she sniffled. "I better get going."

_Thank god._

I reentered the locker room to find just Shelton Benjamin and a few other guys inside. Most of them were lifting weights, taping their wrists and readying themselves for whatever matches they had been booked in. Shelton, on the other hand, was dressed casually in a black shirt and torn jeans, seated on a chair with his feet up on the dresser and nonchalantly reading a magazine.

"Hey, Shelton, don't you have a match to get ready for?"

He turned the page while replying, not taking his eyes off the magazine. "Ain't got one tonight, man. I had a match against Tomko scheduled, but he's in the clinic right now, and the doc said he won't be able to wrestle. I hear some chick kicked him in the 'nads or something earlier tonight."

"Can't really say I feel sorry for the guy," I said, shrugging.

"Me neither. He could get castrated, for all I care."

I started my stretching exercises while continuing the conversation. "Any idea who kicked him?"

"He won't say. Then again, it's not like he'd wanna 'fess up to the fact that he got beat up by a girl. Although I heard him mumbling as he was helped to the clinic that he planned to 'get his hands on Stacy Keibler,' whatever that means."

Hmm, I sense trouble. I better keep my eye on that Tomko.

"Speaking o' women, what's up with you and Lilian Garcia?"

The locker room became quiet all of a sudden. I paused and glanced around, noticing that every guy there was looking at me for an answer. It was freaking scary, if you ask me. "You know what?"

"Yeah?"

"My championship match is up next. Later, guys," I said before getting the hell out of there.

* * *

The lights dim. The crowd looks towards the ramp. The music starts blaring on the loudspeakers. "_It's time to play the game…"_ And then _it_ appears. 

It's enormous.

It's colossal.

It's larger than life.

It's Triple H's nose.

And it won't look the same way again after it's been subject to my Crippler Crossface. You're going down, Trips! Better kiss that championship belt goodbye!

We stare each other down in the middle of the ring. Hunter is taller than me by a few inches, so I found myself glaring up at him and his humongous schnoz. Hmm, I wonder if I could park my car in there. Or maybe it's inhabited by an entire family of grizzly bears…

"You actually think you can take my title away from me, little man?"

I gave him a hard kick to the midsection. "I don't _think_, I _know_."

Thus began the battle of the century: violent, bloody, horrifying, amazing, spectacular. I vowed to make this match different from the rest. I wanted to really wow the audience tonight; after all, this is the match that would put me back in the spotlight.

_Now how did I get in this position?_ Before I knew it, Triple H had dealt me a low blow (curse you Ric Flair, for distracting the ref), and set me up for one of those goddamn Pedigrees. I stared down and waited for the end to come.

And did it ever.

He jumped and mercilessly drove my face right into the mat. _Ouch_. I was seeing stars now. I couldn't move a muscle. Trips crawled over and hooked my leg for the three-count…

_One!_

Still can't move. God, I can't even open my eyes! Am I going to…_lose?_

_Two!_

The referee's hand was coming down, when I heard a familiar female voice yell for me to "Get up, Chris!"

"…Lilian?"

All of a sudden I gained the energy to kick out. The crowd was cheering, and as I looked towards ringside, there she was, smiling…at _me_. "Go for it," she mouthed.

_Go for it._ You bet I will!

And I'm doing it for you, Lilian.

I gave Trips some hard chops before throwing him into the ropes and then suplexing him. Thrice, of course. Would you ever expect less out of Chris Benoit?

Here comes suplex number one. _"I…"_

Now for the second suplex. _"…love…"_

Suplex number three. _"…you…"_

Ah hell, one more. _"…Lilian!"_

I climbed up to the top turnbuckle and smiled right at her. This is it. This is my one defining moment. I take a leap of faith…

…and get acquainted with the mat once again. To my dismay, the bastard had rolled out of the way at the last millisecond. "You pathetic, lovesick fool," he sneered as I lay face down on the mat, "you've gone all weak!"

Rolling over, I saw Triple H crouching down and laughing right in my face. I poked him in the eye. "Oh, have I?"

Now's the time: as quickly as I could, I pulled him down onto the mat and locked on the Crippler Crossface.

"Who's weak now?"

I heard only a heavily muffled reply.

"Tap out!"

He shook his head…well, tried to.

"Tap!"

His right hand was only a few inches away from the mat…

"TAP!!!"

He did. Triple H tapped out. The bell rang, and my theme song started playing. Then I heard her voice: "The winner and new World Heavyweight Champion, Chris Benoit!"

I won? _I won!_ I did it!!

…And it's all thanks to her.

* * *

A shower of congratulations from all the guys greeted me as I went backstage. I got high-fives, handshakes and hugs, and it felt great, knowing I was numero uno once again. It was a real celebration in the men's locker room. 

All of a sudden, everyone fell silent. They were all now looking towards the doorway, and I found out why.

In the open doorway stood Lilian Garcia herself.

She walked towards me with that smile on her face. "Congratulations, Chris, I knew you could do it."

"Thanks, Lilian."

We were now only centimeters apart. "Hey, how do you plan to celebrate your victory?"

"Have a few drinks, I guess." I stared at the floor, running a hand through my rumpled hair.

"With who?"

My gaze redirected from the floor to Lilian. _Go for it,_ I thought to myself, and I grinned at her. "With you."

The boys broke into cheers, catcalls and applause as I took her in my arms and locked lips with her, something I've wanted to do for so long now.

I got the gold _and_ I got the girl. Man, life is good!

"So," I breathed, after we broke off the kiss. "How about those drinks?"

"Well, I was thinking we could just go back to my place and have a little celebration of our own," she whispered back, and winked at me.

I had an arm around her as we made our way out the door. "If you'll all excuse me," I said to the guys, "we have somewhere extremelyimportant to be at right now."

Shelton stepped forward. "Well, man, all we can say is…"

Everybody in the room joined him and yelled in perfect unison: "Go for it!"


	13. Mending A Broken Heart

**A/N:** Thanks again for reviewing, you guys, I hope this next chapter will fly well with y'all too. I apologize in advance for the lack of Stacy/Randy action here in this chapter, this is more focused on a certain surprise pairing. This new pairing, you see, is important in the development of the plot. I hope you understand and like it all the same.

Thank you so much!

Cold-Zephyr

**P.S.** rko-y2j, I'm touched that I inspired you to write a story. More power to ya, and I hope you still like mine!

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**Chapter 13: Mending A Broken Heart (Stacy's POV)**

Looking into the mirror in front of me as I sat by the dresser, I could only see a very lonely and broken woman. My hair and makeup looked just perfect, save for one thing: my mascara was running because the tears continued to roll. I miss Randy like crazy. And he's _still_ in a coma. It scares me to wonder if he'll even wake up from it.

Why is it that when everybody else is doing great, it's _my_ life that's in the shits? Lita's got her Shane, Lilian's got her Chris, and Stacy's got her _nobody_. Stacy's in love with a guy in a coma. How freaking pathetic.

_Knock, knock._

Who could that be? I wiped the mascara from my cheeks with some tissue before opening the dressing room door to see who was knocking. I scowl instantly upon finding out who.

"If you came here to laugh at me and make me feel miserable," I growled, "then let me tell you that it's _really_ not necessary. I already feel like shit, with or without you to ridicule me."

Needless to say, it was Trish Stratus outside the door. "I didn't come here to do that, Stacy…I just wanted to see if you were alright."

Did I just hear that correctly? My own worst enemy would actually care enough to see if _I_ was alright? "You did?"

"Yeah. I kind of felt sorry for you."

"Well, thank you for your sympathy," I mumbled coldly.

"Uh, can I come in?"

I opened the door a bit wider to let her in. "Guess so." I was still a bit cautious, though; who knew if she wasn't just secretly plotting to dump a bucket of mud on my head once she got in?

I sat on the couch and went back to my latest favorite hobby of staring into space. "You know," Trish said as she sat down beside me, "even I can tell that you're not as happy as you used to be. What is it that's been making you so miserable lately?"

No use in lying now. "Randy."

"Let me guess: you hated him at first, but eventually you fell for him and now it's too late?"

My eyes widened. "Wow…you hit the nail right on the head."

"I know that feeling well. I've been there before."

"Really?"

Trish nodded gloomily. "I have. And the wounds have never healed. Up to today, I'm still hurting, even though my whole 'evil bitch' façade hides it well." She let out a sad chuckle.

I leaned in to listen. I never knew she'd been feeling that way; I always thought she didn't give a shit about anyone or anything except herself (and was happy with that arrangement). "Someone broke your heart?"

She faced me and smiled. "Oh, my heart's broken, alright. But it was no one's fault except my own."

This sounded really serious. "Tell me, Trish, what happened?"

"Chris Jericho," she replied miserably, and begun to tell her own sad story.

"You say you hated Randy? Well, I really, _really_ hated Chris at first. Especially after that whole bet thing he had with Christian. I couldn't stand him…but then I found out he'd changed. He was different person now, someone sweeter, kinder and better than the old Chris. Then I started falling for him. We eventually became an item, and for real this time; not just some stupid bet, and I couldn't be happier. He was just the nicest guy ever; he treated me like a princess, and made me feel beautiful. I was on top of the world with Chris by my side."

I guess we were along the same path. I'd hated Randy, too, until I learned that he wasn't as bad as I took him to be.

"Then I made the biggest mistake I could ever make: I let Christian get into my head. He brainwashed me! He made me believe that Chris was no good for me, and was only using me. I feel so stupid for buying into it and becoming Christian's slut. I've never regretted any action more than slapping Chris at Wrestlemania 20. That hurt me more than it hurt him, believe it or not. I dumped Christian, eventually, but I wouldn't be able to get Chris back just by doing that, right?"

I nodded as she continued.

"Now, I'm reduced to nothing. I can't even be myself anymore, because I can't let the rest of the world know what a wreck I truly am without Chris! And you know what the worst of it is? He's probably over me now." A tear rolled down her cheek as she glanced away.

"We all make mistakes, Trish," I told her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Yours was to believe a stupid lie, mine was to hide the truth for too long. But see, the main difference between our situations is that while I'm stuck waiting for Randy to wake up from his coma, you still have the chance to make things right."

She looked at me through her misty brown eyes. "I do?"

"Of course you do, Trish! Just say you're sorry."

Trish scoffed. "Yeah, like he'd ever forgive me."

"You'll never know 'till you try."

"It's not that easy, Stace," she sighed.

I got up, opened the door, and faced Trish. "Then tell me: how much longer can you go on living a lie?"

* * *

There it stood before us: the dressing room door that read "Chris Jericho." I looked towards the shorter blonde. "Well, it's all up to you from here on in." 

Trish nodded gingerly. "Thanks, Stacy."

I watched from the side (right out of Jericho's view) as she knocked on the door. It opened. "What do you want, Trish?"

"I needed to talk to you. Can I come inside?"

He was quiet for a few moments. "Only for a minute," came the cold answer.

Chris had forgotten to close the door after Trish stepped inside, so I used that opportunity to peer in. Hey, I'm not spying! I'm just curious.

He had his arms crossed as he faced Trish, and she was looking right into his icy blue eyes as she spoke. "Chris, I'm a total mess without you. I really regret ever leaving you, and it is by far the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life. I…" She took a deep breath, and exhaled sharply. "I've always loved you. And I know you're probably over me by now and living your life happily, but I'm…I'm not over you. I don't think I ever will be. And I just wanted to tell you that…I miss you, Chris. And I'm sorry, for everything I ever did to you."

He tucked a loose tendril of hair behind his ear and looked away. "Well, I gotta say, Trish---you really hurt me back then."

The tears began to flow freely from her eyes now. "I know, and I'm really sorry. I swear I am. Will you ever forgive me?" she pleaded, sobbing into his chest.

I could feel a tear forming in the corner of my own eye as I watched the two of them.

Chris let a few moments of silence pass before lifting her chin to make her face him. "I forgive you, Trish," he said softly, wiping away a tear from her eye, and the two embraced.

"Can we start over? I promise I won't make the same stupid mistake again. I'll change…for you." She glanced up into his eyes.

I could see him smile at the woman in his arms before slowly closing the distance between their faces with a soft kiss. "It's all I ever wanted to hear from you, Trish."

"I love you, Chris," she whispered.

"I love you too."

Okay, I'm crying like a baby now. I better get the hell out of there before they hear me.

* * *

Sure, I feel good about helping my newest friend Trish get Chris back, but that still doesn't help the fact that I can't be with the one _I_ love. When will my Randy wake up? I have _sooo_ got to go back to the hospital; in fact, I oughta go there right now! 

I get up from the chair in the Stacy-Randy dressing room, get my things and head towards the exit, when someone stops me in the hallway. I whirl around to see Jonathan Coachman standing there.

"Slow down, babe, where's the fire?"

Ugh, I don't have time for this. "I'm in a hurry to get somewhere, Coach. Leave me alone, I don't have anything to do on Raw tonight, anyway."

"Actually, Mr. Bischoff sent me to look for you. He wants to see you. In his office. NOW."

And before I know it, I've been ushered into Bischoff's office by the Coach. "Stacy, just the person I've been looking for! Sit down, sit down."

I did.

"We have found a new Superstar for you to share a romantic storyline with. And the angle starts…next Monday!"

My eyes widened. I found myself unable to speak, and all I could think about is how I would totally blow this storyline because I'm still in love with Randy. "Well, who's the Superstar?"

He cleared his throat and scanned the notes on his desk.

"Hmm…Tyson Tomko."

_What?_

* * *

**A/N:** Ooh, what now? Stay tuned for the next chapter to see what happens next! 'Till then, I'll be anticipating your reviews!

Love y'all!

Cold-Zephyr


	14. Urgency

**Chapter 14:** Urgency (Randy's POV)

**A/N:** Finally, a new chapter is up! Quite a lot has past since I last updated...shame about the recent Randy heel turn (to think I was already loving that he and Stacy were together onscreen. Oh well). Not much happens here in Chapter 14 save for one pivotal moment, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Love lots,

Cold-Zephyr

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**Chapter 14: Urgency (Randy's POV)**

_Well now, how did I get here?_

_All my friends are in attendance, as well as my buddies from the locker room, my parents are here, and so are a bunch of other people. There's a group of girls I don't know, too. Lita's among them, so I guess that would be Stacy's circle of friends. Everybody's dressed up all fancy (I'm wearing a tuxedo) and they're buzzing excitedly. We're all inside what seems to be a really big church, with sun pouring in through the several large glass windows. And I'm standing in front of…a priest?_

_I'm about to ask aloud where the hell I am and what I'm doing here, but then I see a vision through the large doorway that takes my breath away._

_Stacy._

_She's more beautiful today than I've ever seen her, dressed in a white silk gown with a large bouquet of flowers in her delicate hands. Everybody stood up and watched her gracefully make her way down the aisle towards me. If I didn't know any better, I'd say this was a wedding, but again: how did I get here?_

_Despite the absurdity of this all, I can't help but smile at her; then again, could any man help but smile at the woman he loves?_

_I opened my mouth to whisper to her, "I love you, Sta"_

_But then I find myself shoved to the floor by someone behind me. Who on earth would have the gall to ruin such a perfect moment? I glanced up to see a big, burly man dressed quite similarly as yours truly, and grimaced upon recognizing his harsh features._

"_And what the fuck are _you_ doing here, Tyson?"_

_It seemed he didn't hear me, because his greedy eyes were fixated on Stacy**my** Stacy. "Love ya, babe," he said, grinning, as he took her hands in his. She trembled. I could feel the blood boil under my skin._

_A tear rolled down Stacy's cheek as she looked towards me and whispered three words…_

"_**Time's running out."**_

"FUCK!"

I sat bolt upright, screaming, beads of sweat trickling down the sides of my face. And when I opened my eyes, I noticed that everybody was gone. No Stacy. No Tyson. No friends or family. This was a hospital room, not a church. A dim light barely assisted the moon in illuminating the room. I looked down and saw that instead of a tuxedo, I was wearing a hospital gown.

"Holy shit, Randy, you're awake!" yelled a familiar gruff voice, and before I knew it, Chris had burst in through the door and was now hugging me to a pulp.

"Good to see you too, Chris," I squeaked in reply, barely able to breathe. A few minutes passed as I took in everything around me, happy to be finally be alive, conscious and breathing once again, when I spotted something gold glimmering from where Chris had sat. "Hey, what's that?"

"Won it from Trips a couple of weeks ago," he replied with a grin.

"Awesome! Wish I coulda been there to cheer you on."

I was having difficulty speaking since, being comatose, I hadn't spoken in quite a while. Gathering all my strength, I hobbled over to the side table in the room and got a glass of water. "So how long was I out?"

"About two or three weeks."

"Damn."

Silence came upon us. I knew what I really wanted to ask since the moment I opened my eyes. No use beating around the bush, is there? I took a deep breath, and…

"Where's Stacy?"

His expression turned somewhat sad. "Well, I think she's at her apartment right now…"

"How's she doing?"

"Fine, I think."

"Does she miss me?"

He nodded. "Told me so herself."

I sat back, feeling a little bit better. I breathed deeply before looking him in the eye and asking, "Is there anything else I oughta know?"

Chris glanced down and twiddled his thumbs. "Well, I don't know if I should say it, you might go into a coma again…"

"Say it," I growled.

"Alright, well, the higher-ups scrapped your storyline with Stacy and put her in a new love angle that starts tomorrow…"

I could feel my hands balling into fists at my sides. "With who?" I inquired through gritted teeth.

"Tyson Tomko." Chris avoided my eyes completely.

Various scenes from the latter part of my dream flashed through my head.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry; I did know, however, that I had to do _something_ about it.

"And this is okay with her?"

His eyes looked back at me. "Well, to say she was depressed would be sort of an understatement."

The sight of her tear-stained face appeared in my mind, again whispering the words "Time's running out."

I jumped up. I would've run out the door and stolen somebody's car to speed away and save Stacy, but Chris grabbed my wrist and stopped me from even leaving the bed. "Not so fast, cowboy."

"You _do _know that I'm not gonna take this lying down."

"Of course not," he replied. "You wouldn't be Randy Orton if you did. But I don't think suddenly running out of the hospital and saving your princess in that stupid-looking hospital gown would be the best way to go, do you? I think that'd just land you in the loony bin."

I slowly sat back down, still looking out the open door. "You're right."

Chris pulled up a chair and sat down near my bed. "But tell me, Randy, honestly: Do you love her?"

I couldn't be surer of anything.

* * *

**A/N:** With the first day of Stacy's new angle less than one day away, how can Randy possibly rescue her from Tyson Tomko? Find out in the fifteenth and final installment of They Stuck Me With You!


	15. An Improvised Storyline

**A/N:** I know my timing's regrettably off, since the real Stacy/Randy storyline is now ancient history, but I hope that wouldn't make you love my story any less. It pains me to say that this is the end, but I want you all to know how great each and every one of your reviews has made me feel, and writing this story was an even greater experience thanks to all of you. So to everyone who's read and loved this story, thank you all so very much!

All my love,

**Cold-Zephyr**

P.S. Right now I'm out of ideas, so if you have any stories you'd want to see me write, then by all means, say so. I'm open to a challenge :)

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**Chapter 15: An Improvised Storyline (Stacy's POV)**

I'd finally decided that this wasn't something I was gonna take lying down, so on the dreaded Monday night, I made my way to Bischoff's office, accompanied by Lita, Shane, Trish and Chris Jericho.

"And what brings you all here?" Bischoff asked, looking slightly surprised.

Lita stepped forward. "My friend Stacy here has something to say." She looked at me. "Don't you, Stace?"

"Y-yeah," I stuttered.

Mr. Bischoff peered at me sternly through his reading glasses.

"I can't do this storyline with Tyson," I finally blurted out.

"Why not? Has he been harming you in any way?"

I shook my head, but found myself lost for words.

"Well, I don't see any reason…"

"Ah, but there is!" Trish butted in.

"Then what is it?"

She looked at me, waiting for me to just say it, but I was still speechless. "Well, if you won't say it, then I will: Stacy's in love with Randy. You couldn't possibly stick her with anyone else when she's feeling this way, could you? Please, just cancel the storyline." I nodded vigorously.

Bischoff sighed. "Oh Stacy, if you'd only told me sooner. It's too late now, the show's already started. I wish I could help you, I really do."

I looked glumly at the rest of them. "Well guys, I guess that's that."

"Bisch, couldn't you just make some last minute changes?" Shane suggested.

"Afraid not," Bischoff replied. "Stacy's segment is on in twenty minutes. I'm really sorry."

* * *

"Thanks for trying to help me, guys. I appreciate the effort," I said before flopping down on the couch until the dreaded moment arrived when I had to begin my storyline. From where I sat I could see Chris Benoit walking through the entrance followed by a man in a coat and hat. Huh, I didn't think non-crewmemberswere allowed backstage. 

Chris Jericho eyed Tyson's dressing room door, and then the couch, and then the door again, and then the other items in the area (specifically a mop in the corner, a table full of refreshments, and a pile of luggage by the wall), and smiled, a mischievous gleam twinkling in his eye.

"What are you smiling about?" Trish asked him, an eyebrow raised.

"Guys, I have a plan. If I'm not mistaken, Tomko's in there, right?" He pointed towards the door that read 'Tyson Tomko'.

"Well, duh," Lita replied.

Jericho darted towards the mop and ran towards the dressing room, securing it between the doorknob and the door in such a way that whoever was inside wouldn't be able to open it.

He then made a beeline for the refreshments table. "C'mon, Helms, help me out here!"

"It's a crazy plan, Jericho," Shane said, grinning, "but it just might work." Together, they lifted the entire table and set it down right in front of Tyson's door. Trish and Lita grabbed the heavy luggage and followed them, and I got off the couch and helped Shane dragthe couch itselftowards the door.

"This is all really nice of you, guys," I told them, "but it won't keep Tyson away forever."

Lita put an arm around me. "Hey, it buys you time. At least you'd have one more Tomko-free week," she said cheerily.

I tried my best to smile, but I knew that all these efforts were futile since Randy most probably wouldn't show up.

* * *

I was absently going through the motions during the entire Bra and Panties match, and Victoria won easily. Before she even had the chance to celebrate her victory, a very furious Tyson Tomko burst through the curtain. Shit---I _knew_ he could break through our makeshift barricade! 

Tyson was livid. Victoria got the hell out of there, and I stood in the middle of the ring not knowing what to do. For a second I considered following suit, but I risked getting fired by Bischoff for not following the original script, so instead I remained where I was, feeling a little chilly in only my underwear.

He was entering the ring, and he still looked mad. I looked nervously around me as the crowd started to boo. Before I could make another move, he grabbed me by my arms and yanked me towards him, with only three centimeters of space between our faces. I don't want to kiss this ugly goat. But I don't want to disobey Bischoff and lose my job.

Oh, fuck it…I'll be fired anyway for attempting to sabotage the whole thing by blocking the dressing room door earlier tonight. I've got nothing left to lose.

I slapped him in the face as hard as I could and got the hell out of there, quickly running up the ramp and running away from my career. At least I wasn't forced to do something I didn't want to do, and for now, that's what's most important. No regrets. I'm gonna run though that curtain and head straight for the exit, and no one's gonna stop me.

I was so lost in thought that I didn't realize that there was someone right in front of me, blocking the curtain, and as a result I ran straight into his open arms. I looked up. It was the mysterious man in the coat and hat from earlier.

Damn, I should've known…Tyson had called for reinforcements. I feel so stupid.

The distance between myself and the curtain kept growing and growing as the man dragged me to the ring with an inescapable hammerlock hold on me. My blood started boiling as Tyson's despicable laughter rang through my ears, drowning out my screams of "Let me go!". The crowd booed lustily.

Tyson approached us as we stood outside the ring and extended his hand for the man in the coat and hat to shake, a smug smirk on his face. The man held on to my wrist as he neared Tyson, when to my shock (and the audience's) he, instead of shaking Tyson's hand…

…punched him straight across the face, knocking him out cold.

The mysterious man faced me and removed his coat to cover me up. I took of his hat, and…it's the second shocker of the night.

"RANDY?"

He smiled. "Miss me?"

"Like crazy," I choked as I wrapped my arms around him. I wasn't going to let the chance slip away this time. No more holding back. I pulled back and looked right up into his deep blue eyes. "I've wanted to say this for so long…well, I love you, Randy."

"And I love you, Stacy," he told me, and at that moment I couldn't be happier. "Flat chest and all." The familiar smarmy grin I'd missed so much was back.

"You jerk," I giggled and swatted at him playfully, when he grabbed my wrist…and kissed me.

For real this time.

"You know, we have the WWE execs to thank for this. After all, they stuck me with you," I said with a smile as he swept me off my feet and into his arms and carried me up the ramp.

"And they stuck _me _with _you_, and now you'll be stuck with me all the days of your life."

"Sounds good to me," I laughed, and kissed him again, with the audience cheering in approval.

We were greeted by the pudgy backstage coordinator the moment we got through the curtain, and he was absolutely ecstatic. "I smell ratings! Excellent work, you two…this storyline is far from over!"

We looked at each other, then at him. "Well," we replied together, "we'd be happy to do it!"

**-FIN-**


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